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.
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.
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,
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
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