The days are cold, the nights draw in
The air outside is getting thin
We close our doors and stay inside
From Mr Frost we surely hide.

But while we sit in front of fires
Old Jack Frost he never tires
Drawing pictures on the glass
He brings with him an icy blast.

How intricate are Jack’s designs
Diamonds, curves and fuzzy lines
Each place he calls a different show
How he does it, we just don’t know.

And soon the days are not so cold
We venture out now feeling bold
And in the ground the new shoots show
As plants wake up and start to grow.

Back to the North Pole Jack will go
To rest amongst the ice and snow
When the mercury begins to fall
He’ll come again as if he’s called.


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