What Is It?

     (At this rate, perhaps we'll never know.) 

The radio predicted snow. Alas! It had no clue.
“’Twill snow,” it said. What fell instead…? Great piles – small isles! – of snoo.

“What’s snoo…?” ask’d you as snooflakes flew. “A snoo-short world would know.

‘Twould quite the coup ensue if you could sever 'snoo’ from ‘snow.’"

(Do slide shows show how whirlwinds blow the snoo from fro to to…?

No! Snoo’s like shite -- albeit white: ‘tis strewn from out the blue.)

“'Tis ten till two: more snoo be due,” coo'd you. “Before you go,

explain once more we you implore: Distinguish ‘snoo’ from ‘snow’!”