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I feel the wind a biting now
Upon my face and furrowed brow
The brown grass leans in its wrath
As fall to winter makes it path
The first fall of driven snow
As from fall to winter grow
The cold of frost is in the air
The trees of leaves are finally bare
It is the time to homeward turn
As in the stoves the fires burn
The warmth of house and that of kin
To the comforts of the home with in
By: Edward Collinson
Upon my face and furrowed brow
The brown grass leans in its wrath
As fall to winter makes it path
The first fall of driven snow
As from fall to winter grow
The cold of frost is in the air
The trees of leaves are finally bare
It is the time to homeward turn
As in the stoves the fires burn
The warmth of house and that of kin
To the comforts of the home with in
By: Edward Collinson
where you @ these days girl?? :mm:
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