A Winter Artist

A Winter Artist
by Clara R. Bete

Winter time has come again.
Jack Frost, on the windowpane,
With the greatest care will trace
Patterns finer than old lace;
Fairies, flowers, and ferns he'll etch,
Or perhaps will make a sketch
Of a castle with a wall,
Or a maiden straight and tall.

O Jack Frost, it seems to me
Kind and skillful you must be-
You draw things that give delight,
And do it all in just one night!

When Winter Comes

Two squirrels gather nuts beneath a large oak in the forest.

When Winter Comes

by G. H. L.

When winter comes, the squirrels find

Some shelter from the winds unkind;

Some hollow tree where nuts they store,

Enough to last 'till winter's o'er;

There, safe from harm, they build their nest

And settle down to take a rest,

Their larder full of nuts and wheat,

All that they do is sleep and eat;

When winter comes, Ah me! I find

Some thoughtless ones of humankind,

Who never build a cozy nest, 

Prepare for time to take a rest;

Who when they strong north wind blows cold

Are friendless, helpless, hungry-old.