Now the leaves do hurl and blow

For summer’s life is ended;

Winter’s work begins to show;

The trees with his winds are bended.

Hedges all are getting black,

And grass is withering down;

Frost has left his finger-track

And spoiled the trees green gown.

And mud it gets as hard as flint,

And puddles a coat of mail,

And drops of ice like bolls of lint

Hang from the frozen kale.


Bob Johnston

Tullygrawley School

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