Jack Frost

One cold and wintry morn, when first I did awake, 
I gazed at Frost upon the pane, 
And the pictures it did make. 
I knew Jack Frost had come in the night, 
When winter winds do blow, and painted crystal pictures. 
My, it was quite a show! 
Lacy snowflakes, Frosty ferns, etchings everywhere. 
Quite an artist, that Jack Frost. 
He surely has a flair. 
He canvas is a windowpane, his paint the Frosty air. 
He sketches when the night is still. 
When you awake, it's there. 
And when the morning sun peeks through, 
The clouds so cold and gray, it hit with rainbow colors, 
And melts the scene way. 
But he'll return another night, 
While you're warm and snug within, 
And paint another picture, as he rides by on the wind.