Winters

You sleep in night in a blanket curled,
And wake up in the morn’,
And when everything is wet and pearled,
You know it’s the winter horn.

The thought of shower chills the soul,
And sun sure makes one gay,
L’il beasts seek a cosy hole,
And the world changes its way.

The air is so crisp and clean,
And the morning has a golden hue
The flora has that shade of green,
That looks too green to be true.