I rest in the closet for most of the year,
Waiting my turn to come out and play.
I spend much of my time just waiting for her,
To pull me back out on a cold winter's day.
It is not my job to pack the snow,
Nor my task to throw at the neighbors next door,
I am simply content to continue alone
In the task of keeping my little girl warm.
It is a job of distinction, of honor, of pride
I am glad that I have the ability to serve,
There is no other home where I'd rather abide -
But it doesn't pay much. I want a raise.