They call it a Clipper… clipper, faster than lightning,
Few storms you see, are faster than he,
And we know the Clipper’s just a vort in the dry air,
Flying by here, on it’s way to the sea
Snow lovers hope each Clipper they see,
Will stall and grab moisture, when it reaches the sea
But that trick’s a rare one, and much more likely
No one will see, more than a coating to three.