It's cold outside. It's true.
The wind makes it feel only about two.
There are drifts up to the door,
And snow boots on the floor.
More than a dusting we've received,
Just as the forecasters believed.
But while there's a chill outside.
In the warmth is where we'll hide.
Because you see,
When you're as little as he,
Inside is where you'd want to be.
Where naps are many and cuddles aren't few,
On wintery days,
This is what we like to do.
1 comment:
The poem is beautiful
As is the snow
And off to your house
We shall soon go!!
Love, Mumma:)
Post a Comment