Cold and raw the north wind doth blow Bleak in the morning early, All the hills are covered with snow, And winters now come fairly.
Continue reading Cold and Raw the North Wind Doth Blow
In Spring I look gay, Decked in comely array, In Summer more clothing I wear; When colder it grows, I fling off my clothes, And in Winter quite naked appear.
Continue reading A Tree
Spring is showery, flowery, bowery; Summer -- hoppy, croppy, poppy; Autumn -- wheezy, sneezy, freezy; Winter -- slippy, drippy, nippy.
Continue reading The Seasons
A swarm of bees in May Is worth a load of hay; A swarm of beens in June Is worth a silver spoon; A swarm of bees in July Is not worth a fly.
Continue reading A Swarm Of Bees In May
Thirty days hath September, April, June, and November; February has twenty-eight alone, All the rest have thirty-one, Excepting leap-year, that's the time When February's days are twenty-nine.
Continue reading Thirty Days Hath September
Lives in winter, Dies in summer, And grows with its roots upward!
Continue reading An Icicle
A swarm of bees in May Is worth a load of hay; A swarm of bees in June Is worth a silver spoon; A swarm of bees in July Is not worth a fly.
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The fair maid who, the first of May, Goes to the fields at break of day, And washes in dew from the hawthorn-tree, Will ever after handsome be.
Continue reading The First Of May
As the days grow longer The storms grow stronger
Continue reading Lengthening Days
Piping hot, smoking hot. What I've got You have not. Hot gray pease, hot, hot, hot; Hot gray pease, hot.
Continue reading A Seasonable Song
Cold and raw the north wind doth blow, Bleak in the morning early; All the hills are covered with snow, And winter's now come fairly.
Continue reading Winter
Put down your pillow under the willow, Hang up your hat in the sun, And lie down to snooze as long as you choose, For the plowing and sowing are done. Pick up your pillow from under the willow, And clamber out into the sun. Get a fork and a rake for goodness’ sake, For the harvest time has begun. Leroy F. Jackson
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As I was going down the hill In front of Missus Knapp’s I saw the little Knapperines All in their winter wraps— Purple mitts and mufflers And knitted jersey caps. As I was coming back again In front of Missus Knapp’s I saw that awful lady Give about a dozen slaps To every little Knapperine— I thought it was, perhaps, Because they gathered stickers In their knitted jersey caps.
Continue reading As I Was Going Down the Hill
The snowflakes are falling by ones and by twos; There’s snow on my jacket, and snow on my shoes; There’s snow on the bushes, and snow on the trees— It’s snowing on everything now, if you please. Leroy F. Jackson
Continue reading Snowflakes
Twenty little snowflakes climbing up a wire. “Now, listen,” said their mother, “don’t you climb up any higher. The sun will surely catch you, and scorch you with his fire.” But the naughty little snowflakes didn’t mind a word she said, Each tried to clamber faster than his fellow just ahead; They thought that they’d be back in time enough to go to bed. But they found out that their mother wasn’t quite the dunce they thought her, The sun bobbed up—remember this, my little son and daughter— And turned those twenty snowflakes into twenty drops of water. Leroy F.
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The lightning split the sky in two And set the clouds to leaking Just as dear old Pastor Brown Began his Sunday speaking. He told about the awful rain That fell in Noah’s day, And one by one the happy smiles Began to fade away. In half an hour the people all Put on their rubber coats, And when he finished everyone Was out and building boats. Leroy F. Jackson
Continue reading Rain
I think that I shall never see A poem lovely as a tree. A tree whose hungry mouth is prest Against the sweet earth's flowing breast; A tree that looks at God all day, And lifts her leafy arms to pray; A tree that may in summer wear A nest of robins in her hair; Upon whose bosom snow has lain; Who intimately lives with rain. Poems are made by fools like me, But only God can make a tree. Alfred Joyce Killmer
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Late lies the wintry sun a-bed, A frosty, fiery sleepy-head; Blinks but an hour or two; and then, A blood-red orange, sets again. Before the stars have left the skies, At morning in the dark I rise; And shivering in my nakedness, By the cold candle, bathe and dress. Close by the jolly fire I sit To warm my frozen bones a bit; Or with a reindeer-sled, explore The colder countries round the door. When to go out, my nurse doth wrap Me in my comforter and cap; The cold wind burns my face, and blows Its frosty pepper up
Continue reading Winter Time
