lies
ripening
in the
cellar,
hams and
bacon hang
in the
smoke-shed,
and crabs
are stowed
away in
the straw
for
roasting
in the
wintertime,
when the
north wind
piles the
snow in
drifts
around the
gables and
the fire
crackles
warm upon
the
hearth. So
passed the
seasons
then, so
they pass
now, and
so they
will pass
in time to
come,
while we
come and
go like
leaves of
the tree
that fall
and are
soon
forgotten.
Quoth
robin
hood,
snuffing
