This was emailed to me by a friend who recently shifted from "the prairies" to Vancouver. The irony:
WHY I LOVE THE PRARIES
Author Unknown
When it's Christmas on the prairies
And the gentle breezes blow,
About sixty miles an hour
And it's forty-five below.
You can tell you're on the prairies
'Cause the snow's up to your butt,
And you take a breath of Christmas air
And your nostrils both freeze shut.
The weather here is wonderful,
So I guess I'll hang around,
I could NEVER leave the prairies
My feet are frozen to the ground!
Author Unknown
When it's Christmas on the prairies
And the gentle breezes blow,
About sixty miles an hour
And it's forty-five below.
You can tell you're on the prairies
'Cause the snow's up to your butt,
And you take a breath of Christmas air
And your nostrils both freeze shut.
The weather here is wonderful,
So I guess I'll hang around,
I could NEVER leave the prairies
My feet are frozen to the ground!
2 comments:
As one who has recently returned from the said city, I can advise that the buildings look like they were put up last week and I would rather look down Portage Avenue anyday.
BUT - they have rain, and mountains, and rivers, and whales, and fish and chips with onion rings and tartare sauce, and 60 flavours of ice-cream, and home made fudge, and haggis, and a steam clock, and Scottish people and - you have just got to love it.
I guess life on the praries all comes down to how high your butt is off the ground..
love the new picture at the top!
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