  The very first snow of the year, Mama, And the drifts must be ten feet high; So I’ve come home to get dry, Mama, And this is the reason why: We were on our way from school, Mama, Betty and Margie and Nan, When someone gave us a terrible push And into a drift we ran. And we sat down in the snow, Mama, It wasn’t as cold as you’d think; And we thought we would sit for a while, Mama. And we did, till we grew quite pink. I feel that my shoes are wet, Mama, And I fear the same for my hose: And I fancy I’m rather damp, Mama, Around in my underclothes. |
|
