Winter-Time

It's bitter COLD, frosty and the snow is crunchy this morning. I know this because I ventured into the backyard to get the picture of my pine needles. I only got stuck in the ice once or twice and both slippers made it back to the house. I can't describe this frosty kind of day any better than Robert Louis Stevenson and his poem "Winter-Time" that I have reprinted below. But before that, Stevenson was born in 1850 and was largely ignored until the 20th Century where he became a favorite childrens' poet (and of course he wrote Treasure Island and Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde). Go pull out your "A Child's Garden of Verses" curl up with some tea and don't go outside in your fuzzy pink bathrobe to take pictures. The neighbors will TALK.


Late lies the wintry sun a-bed,
A frosty, fiery sleepy-head;
Blinks but an hour or two; and then,
A blood-red orange, sets again.

Before the stars have left the skies,
At morning in the dark I rise;
And shivering in my nakedness,
By the cold candle, bathe and dress.

Close by the jolly fire I sit
To warm my frozen bones a bit;
Or with a reindeer-sled, explore
The colder countries round the door.

When to go out, my nurse doth wrap
Me in my comforter and cap;
The cold wind burns my face, and blows
Its frosty pepper up my nose.

Black are my steps on silver sod;
Thick blows my frosty breath abroad;
And tree and house, and hill and lake,
Are frosted like a wedding-cake.