Envoi

“Oh, Winter, must you leave so soon?”
Said Spring as Winter turned to go.
“If only you could stay till June,
And help to make my garden grow.”

So back again that night he goes
To see the flowers, how they grow.
Poor things, they looked so cold, he throws
O’er them a coverlet—of snow.

Next morning Spring was full of woe
To find her flowers frozen—dead.
“The Fool I never thought he’d go
And take me at my word,” she said.