Audrey B. Dodge
Though the temperature be near sixty there's a chill in the air--
the sun is trying to dispel it but Jack Frost put it there.
With the winter season at hand--
snow is waiting in the wings to toss her blanket of white over the land.
The leaves have left the trees all naked and bare--
the song birds have left for the south, no beautiful music fills the air.
All cozy and warm by the fireplace, the wind is howling outside--
Jack Frost painting the windows with his usual amount of pride