Saturday, 16 February 2008


Ere’ the sun has time to peep
And all good folk are fast asleep
If the callendar decrees
And thermometres drop that few degrees
Then with his ornate designs so grand
Jack Frost creeps out across the land
Equally oer’soil or sand
Pots of white paint in either hand
Painting the trees in bright relief
Covering each branch and leaf
Designing anew each hedge and stile
So intricate mile after mile
Leaving ice where waters flow
Ensuring it’s too cold for snow
Then tragicallly the sun appears
And jack’s white frost turns into tears

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