I expect the first snows to arrive any day now. Once Thanksgiving has passed, it seems that winter comes blowing in with a vengeance. Here's "Winter" by Robert Louis Stevenson:
In rigorous hours, when down the iron lane
The redbreast looks in vain
For hips and haws,
Lo, shining flowers upon my window-pane
The silver pencil of the winter draws.
When all the snowy hill
And the bare woods are still;
When snipes are silent in the frozen bogs,
And all the garden garth is whelmed in mire,
Lo, by the hearth, the laughter of the logs --
More fair than roses, lo, the flowers of fire!
"The silver pencil of the winter draws." Great line!
LibriVox has multiple recordings of the poem, click here and give a listen.
The Poetry Friday Round-Up is being hosted by Jone, on this "Black Friday," at Check It Out.
Photo by Paul J. Morris