When Old Man Winter whistles in
Through autumnís bare-limbed trees,
He paints the blue sky gray again
And instigates a freeze.
He pounds the earth with shards of ice
And stencils in sharp sleet.
With freezing rain he forms a glaze
On every road and street.
He rules the world with gusty winds;
No balmy breezes blow,
For he controls the atmosphere
With crystal tears and snow.
He toils to hide the warmth of sun
And brings night-dark to day.
His chill drives birds to leave their homes
And seek warmth far away.
When people dare to venture out,
Of comfort he disposes.
From palette in his stiff back pack,
He reddens cheeks and noses.
He sends a shiver to their bones,
Then numbs their hands and feet,
And doesnít stop his torment till
Their miseryís complete
He withers flowers that have dared
To last beyond the fall
With squalls and blizzards heís devised
To decimate them all.
Iím wise to Old Man Winterís plans,
His vengeful aspirations.
I will not let him bother me
With frigid machinations.
He cannot keep from me the glow
Of lamp and fireside,
Nor darken light where in my heart
My Dear Lord does abide.
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