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a wintery poem
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beneath the leaves of autumns bed
the grass, still green from summers tread
will soon be browned and then decay
to show that winter's on its way
the trees will bear new icy clothes
the branches, thin, will freeze in pose
and at the ends in wooden fists
snowballs will form and bend wood wrists
Down in the towns, chimneys will smoke
upon sloped roofs with frosty cloaks
Snowmen will live on every street
They cannot move, they have no feet!
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i know it isnt a whole poem, i get so bored so fast...
the grass, still green from summers tread
will soon be browned and then decay
to show that winter's on its way
the trees will bear new icy clothes
the branches, thin, will freeze in pose
and at the ends in wooden fists
snowballs will form and bend wood wrists
Down in the towns, chimneys will smoke
upon sloped roofs with frosty cloaks
Snowmen will live on every street
They cannot move, they have no feet!
--------------------------------------------------------
i know it isnt a whole poem, i get so bored so fast...