We almost know the season of the year By what the boys are doing on our street. In fall it's always football; then we hear Shouts and thudding of their heavy feet. In winter it is sleds and maybe skis, Cries of delight when someone takes a "spill". In spring it's flying kites, and then one sees Our boys on stilts showing each his skill. In summer there is sure to be a stand Where muddy-looking lemonade is sold For only a cent a glass, we understand, From nearly naked salesmen ten years old. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE STIRRUP-CUP by LOUIS UNTERMEYER DISASTER by CHARLES STUART CALVERLEY THE WRITER'S JOURNAL: POSSESSION by BAYARD TAYLOR ROSAMOND: KING HENRY'S SONG by JOSEPH ADDISON SUMMER'S JOE by PATRICK JOHN MCALISTER ANDERSON SHE BEGINING TO STUDY PHISICK ... FALLS INTO A DEGRESSION ON ANATOMY by JANE BARKER MALEFACTORS by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN |