January 15 to 31

Frost

What swords and spears, what daggers bright

He arms the morning with! How light

His powder is, that’s fit to lie

On the wings of a butterfly!

What milk-white clothing he has made

For every little twig and blade!

What curious, little work is shown

On wood and iron, glass and stone!

‘If you, my slim Jack Frost, can trace

This work so fine so full of grace,

Tell me,’ I said, ‘before I go–

Where is your plump young sister, Snow?’