Winter's Allure
The winter time, with dove white spread;
all nature's creatures are in bed,
facing the cold with fear and dread.
It goes unsaid, it goes unsaid.
Myself, I like the icy time,
when old Jack Frost is in his prime
and he creates the wint'ry clime.
It is no crime, it is no crime.
Winter's a need for man and beast,
our labors for the season ceased.
The crops are stowed, awaiting feast.
That's not the least, that's not the least.
Sometimes the cold will make us sneeze,
when sniffing at a cold clean breeze,
while flying down a hill on skis,
but it does please, but it does please.
The ice blue sky above our heads
The icicles like silver threads
The glow of snow like soft bedspread
We're in our beds, we're in our beds.
Winter determines nature's fate.
What creatures will then live to mate?
The whole world's in a waiting state,
if spring is late, if spring is late.
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