Winter drags on... and on... and on.... We occasionally get a hint of Spring just around the corner. The poor crocus keep trying to bloom and succeed for a few days before getting frozen. It was warm enough yesterday that the Spring peepers were singing at the pond; and I heard the sweetest bird song earlier today, when it was still raining. Now that the day has drawn to a close and the warm front has moved through, and everything is once again cover over with ice, and I hear the snow plow grinding and scraping down the highway, and the burning question is: Will we get 8-10 inches of snow that was forecast this morning? Who knows? So, time to trot out one of my favorite winter poems, titled appropriately enough....
Winter
When icicles hang by the wall,
And Dick the shepherd blows his nail,
And Tom bears logs into the hall,
And milk comes frozen home in pail,
When blood is nipp'd and ways be foul,
Then nightly sings the staring owl,
Tu-whit;
Tu-who, a merry note,
While greasy Joan doth keel the pot.
When all aloud the wind doth blow,
And coughing drowns the parson's saw,
And birds sit brooding in the snow,
And Marion's nose looks red and raw,
When roasted crabs his in the bowl,
Then nightly sings the staring owl,
Tu-whit;
Tu-who, a merry note,
While greasy Joan doth keel the pot.
William Shakespeare
Love's Labour's Lost
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