When the trees are thin and bare,
That's when the fox sleeps in her lair
Through the branches of the birch,
The owl sits upon his perch
Outside the blizzard shows its power,
Pretty as a winter flower
When we hang the mistletoe,
We always watch the raging snow
**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**
I wrote this when I was 12, and it's the first poem I've ever written, so I know it's nothing extreme.
