THE snow will soon be flying, the snow we love so well; in drifts it will be lying along the hazel dell. The brawling winds will grip us, and give our ears a biff, the morning frost will nip us, and make our whiskers stiff. But we who toiled and panted preparing for this time, are cheerful and enchanted to see the snow and rime. And now there is a comer to every worker's door—the man who loafed all summer, and dodged the useful chore. The man who lounged and idled, hard by the village kirk, and who in anger bridled, when he was asked to work. In ancient, chestnut phrasin's, he asks for things to chaw, for liverwurst and raisins, for pumpkin pies and slaw. His kids, in countless numbers, are suffering for bread; his aunts are robbed of slumbers because they have no bed. The same old whiskered story, you've heard for years and years, told by a sinner hoary, with alligator tears! He profits by your bounty, you give him tripe and tea, and wonder why the county won't feed such skates as he. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...TWO PROMENADES SENTIMENTALES: 1. RAIN by EDITH SITWELL THE ARCHITECT (1) by KAREN SWENSON MY YOUTH by WILLIAM HENRY DAVIES TO HIS MISTRESS OBJECTING TO HIM NEITHER TOYING OR TALKING by ROBERT HERRICK CHRISTMAS DAY IN THE WORKHOUSE by GEORGE ROBERT SIMS VOICES by FRANKLIN PIERCE ADAMS |