I'm at the grocery store. Anyone want a Yooper t shirt or hoodie?

Let me not to the marriage of the land
And winter’s bite speak false—true cold is not
A season’s whim that melts at summer’s hand,
Nor shifts when thawing streams dare warm a plot.
O no! It is an ever-fixèd mark,
That towers in tempests, crowned by starlit breath;
Each snowbank guards the pine, a steadfast ark,
Unmoved by time’s decay or fleeting death.
Love’s not the thaw that tourists’ brief gaze steals,
Nor noise of snowmobilers who scar the peace—
Their tracks, like vain boasts, frost’s slow art conceals,
While silent drifts outlast their ragged fleece.
If this be false, let doubters’ tongues grow numb:
I wrote no verse, and beauty’s reign’s undone.

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