Wind doesn't chill the squirrels
It merely ruffles their fur
And the bitter Winter takes
This as an insult to her
Winter snows hide frozen grass
Covers boughs that they did run
But as all it soon does pass
When warm Spring brings mellow sun
Trees begin to take off snow
Grass soon shows ragged patches
Spring it is the bird does know
Shown in the worm it catches
Copyright © 1999 Katherine Wallace. All rights reserved.