Yield, branch, background, terrain

Today in our city we’re grumbling
Through mountains of snow not yet plowed
The city’s terrain is all covered
From sidewalks to branches and boughs.

Our buses have all gone on strike now,
The train tracks lay silent and still,
The people are forced now to fumble
Through all of these snow-laden hills.

The music is still in the background,
You can hear the glad tidings ring out
Through the doorways and gaily-lit windows
Of shops where there’s no-one about.

Winter has stormed in much too early,
The calendar still says that it’s fall
But red leaves and mums have to yield now
To the bluster of winter’s white call.

So over the hills and the snowbanks
Our townsfolk must wearily trudge -
Whoever dreamt of a white Christmas
Should come here and shovel us out!


(I know, the last line doesn't quite rhyme)


New words: bells, whistles, horns, strings