A poem about January
Of January wary be!
The fairy on the Christmas tree
Can wave no more her magic wand,
She’s in the loft, she won’t respond.
A cold east wind from Europe blows
But what it augurs no one knows,
It bites the ears and seems to moan
‘We’ll freeze you out. You’re on your own.’
Then, turning to the west, we hear
The Mighty Trump sound loud and clear:
A brash and raucous blast that hails
More vehement storms and violent gales;
This month bodes ill but all’s not lost
The spring might yet unfreeze the frost,
And kinder months are on their way,
There’s always hope, there’s always May!
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