Poetry Explorer

Classic and Contemporary Poetry

A BOY'S HANDS by ALBERT EDMUND TROMBLY

First Line: LOCKED ALL THE WINTER LONG
Last Line: TO MAKE A FINE WHISTLE.
Subject(s): HANDS;
Locked all the winter long
In mittens and pockets,
Now breaking out in song
Like set off rockets.

Crusted, frost-bitten, and chapped
And bony as gristle --
Boxwood's not near so apt
To make a fine whistle.



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