King Winter

The sky is dull and grey,

Piercing and chill the blast,

Each step resounds on the frosty ground,

Winter is come at last.

Mamma sits by the fire

Her little ones round her knees.

"How cosy we are, Mamma," they cry,

"Tell us something, if you please."

"Tell us about King Winter,

And about Jack Frost, his man;

We'll not be noisy or naughty at all,

But as good as ever we can."

"Well then;" says mamma, "you, Jenny,

May knit and listen, my dear;

And Johnny may split up wood, to make

The fire burn bright and clear."

King Winter dwells in the North;

Far away in the Frozen Zone,

In a palace of snow he holds his court,

And sits on an icy throne.

He has cushions of course: his Queen

Made them out of her wedding gown.

Stuffing them well with snowflakes fine,

And soft as eiderdown.

The King has a trusty servant,

Jack Frost is his name; his nose

Is raspberry red, his beard is white,

And stiff as a crutch it grows.

Old Jack is a sturdy good fellow,

And serves their Majesties well;

He's here and he's there, and he's everywhere,

And does more than I can tell.

Each year, as the day comes round,

The king and his royal train

Set off on a tour through the wide wide world,

And sweep over mountain and plain.

His Majesty fails not to visit

Every clime that's not too hot,

To look in upon both high and low,

From the palace down to the cot.