When cold and bitter North winds blow
And clouds look like they're full of snow
Into the house I'd rather go
And pull up by the fire
When trees have lost their golden leaves
A last lone goose the Northwood flees
Jack Frost external warmth bereaves
But hearts inspire
When farmers have the harvest in
And double sweatshirts seem too thin
The creeping cold benumbs my chin
I think we should go in
The ciders hot, the coffee's on!
Methinks my cares are mostly gone
Please come my friend in quiet mirth
Let's visit by the hearth
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