When the Year Grows Old
Danny Harris Kornfeld
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I cannot but remember when the year grows old
October, November, how she disliked the cold
She used to watch the swallows go down across the sky
And turn from the window with a little sharp sigh
And often when the brown leaves were brittle on the ground
And the wind in the chimney made a melancholy sound
She had a look about her
She had a look about her
She had a look about her
That I wish I could forget
The look of a scared thing sitting in a net
Beautiful at nightfall the soft spitting snow
And beautiful the bare boughs rubbing to and fro
But the roaring of the fire and the warmth of fur
And the boiling of the kettle were beautiful to her
She had a look about her
She had a look about her
She had a look about her
That I wish I could forget
I cannot but remember when the year grows old
October, November, how she disliked the cold