Snow hits the icy ground,

As, on the pond, she glides around.

Why is it so nice,

How beautiful she looks on the ice?

I dare not make a sound.

For I am, obviously, spellbound.

By her, breathtaking, beauty.

As she glares at me; as usual, snooty.

When I notice I notice, I am confound,

As I remember a time I hated her year round.

For she has been stuck up, since we were small.

I think as I make a snowball,

Then throw it at her, face bound.

Afterwards her butt hit the ice with a pound.

She then yells at me.

As I just, pathetically, flee.