The ice weasels come when it's cold outside
And the wind begins to blow.
They scratch their claws on your windowpanes
So the fear in you starts to grow.
They howl little songs that are out of tune
Til your ears begin to whine,
"Save us, we beg, from these wrathful thugs
Or we'll surely end up dyin'."
2 comments:
Dress warm on this cold winter's day
Lest you find a bit of frostbite
Leave not one glove behind
If your digits are to stay right
Every last digit is near and dear to my heart!
Post a Comment