He threw a snowball once or twice
She ducked beneath the growing ice
She tossed one back; it hit his face
He threw another; this bitter toss
Was a little harder and found it’s spot
She ran back in; she’d had enough
But he kept coming-no longer fluff
“I give–what’s up?” she tried to say
But he pursued her anyway.
It’s all on him, he would not quit
So when the other boy got hit
He tossed a rock right at the boy
Then hit the mark–but a different boy
Then angry, too, the next boy stopped
And found the largest, shiny rock
And threw it at the noble friend,
who took out the shotgun. The end.
Why are you shooting at me now?
I wasn’t even home.