When the leaves are dead and the trees are bare
Then we can say that winter's here.
When birds migrate and the north wind blows,
Then comes the time for winter snows.
All plants are dead, the ground is white,
The air is cooler every night.
All wood is chopped, the fires are lit
And all arond people sit,
Awaiting the dawn of spring.
Marina Berzins 1A
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