Amid the Winter

 

It is likely that the winter wind,

wending ‘round the windows again,

will whine and whistle, with a moose-like moan,

all spike and thistle, with spiny groan.

 

And then in haste, will whistle away,

dust dairy and dinghy on a snowy day.

frost, and frigid, brittle with bite,

especially on a starlit night,

when the worst of weather howls like wolves,

stampedes through the pass, on thunderous hooves,

 

tells lies to the spruce, the juniper, pine,

huddled like old men, bent in decline,

whose green-wooly overcoats shudder with snow,

sun-warmth forgotten amid the blow.

 

As over the hill, in the valley below,

Jingle bells ring and Yule logs glow.