My Father Attended a Toga Party During the Blizzard of ’77

He commandeth the snow to go down upon the earth
And the winter rain and the shower of his strength

Metal lunch bucket grey as the storm's forecasted birth
Held a meatloaf sandwich and licorice an arm's length

All paid jobs absorb and degrade the mind; go headfirst
Into the blizzard winds with Merry Tillers cranked

Fire departments will soon discover their dearth
But my father trekked through snow, blowing and banked

He never made it to the warehouse, for what it's worth
Traffic was stalled both ways, every lane

Rescued by a worker on a snowmobile, Firth
He was driven to the nearest hotel and stayed

And later reported the goings on: the mirth
The first night, a toga party, white sheets draped

Second night more merriment, this time a blur
A man they named Gumby got up and sang

The storm grew fiercer but to them it did not occur
That this event would trap them four more days

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