Some people say that summer is the only time to walk,
Or be outdoors, but Pop and me we don’t believe such talk;
Why we go out the coldest days and tramp an hour or two,
And we see lots and lots of things that stay-homes never do.
For if the trees are brown and bare and all the flowers are dead,
The woods are full of evergreens and berries bright and red;
And crows are flying round the fields and calling far and loud,
Or gathering in the tree-tops like a big convention crowd.
And rabbits run across the road and scamper off so shy,
Or maybe squirrels on some high limb peep at us quick and sly;
And when the wind blows ‘round the hill the leaves fly everywhere,
Or whirl off like a flock of birds upon the frosty air.
And if when we’re a-walking out it should begin to snow,
We button up and hike along till we are all aglow;
And when we get back home again we look so fresh an’ strong,
That folks say, “My but you look fine—I wish I’d went along.”