It is the first day of December
And the pine, in beauty glows
On its limbs the fruit await
To reach the forest ground below
Their silent fall will touch the earth
Where they wait until they're found
By happy children toting baskets
Gather all, then homeward bound!
The smell of pine cones just makes winter, doesn't it? Beautiful poem, Dixie, x
ReplyDeleteYes it does, Julie, and I think you got 'my' snow. lol x
ReplyDelete