Please give me fresh powder, a lake full, a sea,
And, oh, what a happy skier I'll be.

Call it fluff, or freshies, or even white sauce--
I don't care what you call it, I don't care a toss.

Uncork those clouds and let them roar,
We who love powder, we know more is more!

I'll carve it on skinny skis, even board like a dork,
I've ripped it from Europe to upstate New York.

Over steeps, down chutes, poached it like a rat,
Powder's great...except when it's flat.

Don't bore me with groomed, I might as well fall;
Provide me with powder and I won't mind at all.

Just let me on the lift and I'll carve till I'm dead,
Then go home to dream about powder in bed.