My maiden name was Hannah,
and I was twelve at the time.
We had been playing Fox-and-Geese
in the schoolyard, during
the afternoon recess,
when the blizzard bore down
out of the northwest, roaring,
and whistling, loud as a train.
There was lightning in front,
and it looked like bales of cotton
twenty-five feet high, tied up
with flashing silver wire.
I shall never forget that night,
as we stood close to the stove
in that creaking, drafty schoolhouse,
doing our best to comfort
the little ones, who were cold
and afraid of the darkness.
We sang all the songs we knew,
including, “Blow winter winds,
as hard as you will, we shall
be gay and happy still.”