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Jack Frost
by Betty Cessna, November, 2000


When I was just a little girl,

So much to my delight,

Jack Frost would paint our window panes

On chilly winter nights.


He seemed to favor woodland scenes,

With ferns, and leaves, and trees,

And the beauty of the brushstrokes

Looked like fairyland, to me.


“Oh, look,” my Mama’d point them out,

“How pretty,” she would say,

And we’d study them with baited breath

Before they’d melt away.


But times just keep on changin’

Mama’s gone, and I’m not young,

But I still recall the way that frost

Would sizzle on my tongue.


And we’ve insulated windows, now

That keep away the frost,

And I know that this is progress,

But it always has a cost.


Now, folks put up plastic stick’ums

You can buy in any store,

But Jack Frost doesn’t come around

To paint them, anymore.





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