• It is cold, it does not snow
    All is bleak, but it grows
    Inside my house all is green
    We have our own version of spring-clean

    There is nothing left to do
    But to wait for chaos to insue
    Many people come to visit
    With nowhere left for them to sit

    In my home, we have seven
    Today we have seen eleven
    Dark and cold it is outside
    Our semi-arid desert seems to die

    I like the heat more then cold
    By Christmas, the chill is old
    Still, I would not take away
    The love that I have felt today