Winter Poem
Now on the hilltops,
Snow on the trees,
Snow everywhere I walk,
Way up to my knees.
Scoop the snow up with your hands
And roll into a ball.
We can make a fine snowman
Standing white and tall.
What a fine morning day
With all the snow I see,
I want to go outside to play
When winter visits me.
Copyright © Josh Heree | Year Posted 2018
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