The Snow’s Not Sticking
Mum says the snow’s not sticking.
That really can’t be right.
I want to build a snowman,
and start a snowball fight.
Dad says the snow’s not sticking.
That really can’t be true.
Not when I have a super-plan,
involving super glue!
Gran says the snow’s not sticking.
That really makes me frown.
But I have found some sellotape,
to stick that white stuff down!
Gramps says the snow’s not sticking -
conditions are not right.
But I've had fun with a staple gun,
to fix those flakes down tight.
Yet ... still the snow’s not sticking,
and now it’s time for bed.
I ditch the stapler, glue and tape,
and rest my tired head.
Then, when it gets to morning,
I can’t believe my luck.
My super-plan worked splendidly.
The snow has actually stuck!
I find my coat and wellies,
and through the door I pound.
I've got my tape ... make no mistake -
this snow WILL stick around!
That really can’t be right.
I want to build a snowman,
and start a snowball fight.
Dad says the snow’s not sticking.
That really can’t be true.
Not when I have a super-plan,
involving super glue!
Gran says the snow’s not sticking.
That really makes me frown.
But I have found some sellotape,
to stick that white stuff down!
Gramps says the snow’s not sticking -
conditions are not right.
But I've had fun with a staple gun,
to fix those flakes down tight.
Yet ... still the snow’s not sticking,
and now it’s time for bed.
I ditch the stapler, glue and tape,
and rest my tired head.
Then, when it gets to morning,
I can’t believe my luck.
My super-plan worked splendidly.
The snow has actually stuck!
I find my coat and wellies,
and through the door I pound.
I've got my tape ... make no mistake -
this snow WILL stick around!
This poem is copyright (©) Sue Lancaster 2024
About the Writer
Sue Lancaster
Sue is a children's writer living in South West London with her husband, two children and pet budgie, Buddy. Before turning her hand to writing, Sue worked in TV as a Production Manager and got her degree in Media Studies at the University of East London. She grew up in Clacton on the coast of Essex and spent much of her childhood writing stories and poems, playing with her three cats, and being tormented by her two older brothers.