Lawrence Hall
Dispatches for the Colonial Office
The Cold Has Gotten Old
For many years I was a self-appointed inspector of snow-storms...
-Thoreau, Walden
The cold has gotten old without Christmas trees
And little lights in all their vestmental tints
No longer counterpoint the dark northern breeze
No visions of spring, no dreamings, no hints
The happy lawns of summer are mud and frost
The path to the cowshed is a rattle of sleet
The trail to the fishing hole was yesterday lost
And our boots are too thin for our freezing feet
But after our chores boiling hot coffee, please -
The cold has gotten old without Christmas trees!
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