The bleak and wintry winds again do blow,
And frowning clouds roll slowly o’er the sky.
No mantle has the chestnut or the ash,
For gusty winds blew off their golden suits.
The sun bursts out from underneath a cloud,
And now the land is clad in golden light,
The hedges glint as moonbeams of the night,
And glitter as the dewdrops of the morn.
Margaret Alexander Age 13