Tuesday March 7, 1911
     It is winter again - real Winter! All morning a cold wind has been chasing grey clouds across the sky and at noon a fine snow began to come down,getting harder all afternoon, until now it is a regular blizzard: trees and houses have become indistinct and the howling wind hurls the snow hither and thither.
     Before school this morning and at noon I worked on the posters. Bill and I wrote Poetry again to-day. I started it, laborously working out this masterpiece:
                         I.  
     There was a ronyon called Bill,
     Who thought that he could act
     But he is trying still –
     For a dramatic pose he lacked.
                       II.
     He posed and posed and posed
     But he posed and posed in vain;
     The way he posed and posed and posed
     Certainly’d give one a pain.
                      III.