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A Child's Own Book of Verse II by  Ada M. Skinner

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Nothing is quite so quiet and clean

As snow that falls in the night;

And is n't it jolly to jump from bed

And find the whole world white?

It lies on the window ledges,

It lies on the boughs of the trees,

While sparrows crowd at the kitchen door,

With a pitiful "If you please?"

It lies on the arm of the lamp-post,

Where the lighter's ladder goes,

And the policeman under it beats his arms,

And stamps—to feel his toes;

The butcher's boy is rolling a ball

To throw at the man with coals,

And old Mrs. Ingram has fastened a piece

Of flannel under her soles;

No sound there is in the snowy road

From the horses' cautious feet,

And all is hushed but the postman's knocks

Rat-tatting down the street,

Till men come round with shovels

To clear the snow away,—

What a pity it is that when it falls

They never let it stay!


And while we are having breakfast

Papa says, "Isn't it light?

And all because of the thousands of geese

The Old Woman plucked last night.

"And if you are good," he tells us,

"And attend to your A B C,

You may go in the garden and make a snow man

As big or bigger than me."



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