14 December 2013

W is for Wood's 'Winter's Treasures'


                               When Autumn days are over
                                    And the north winds blow
                               And mother earth is bedded
                                    'Neath her robes of snow;

                               When trees are robbed of beauty
                                    And the gaunt limbs sigh
                               To slumbering Apollo
                                    In the gray dark sky;

                               My heart begins a yearning
                                    And my thoughts to stray
                               O'er the highways I wandered
                                    In the yesterday.

                               I hear the merry laughter
                                    Of the long ago
                               As we gazed through the windows
                                    At the falling snow.

                               I hear the ringing sleighbells
                                    On the Deacon's horse
                               And itch to throw a snowball
                                    In a straight true course.

                               I feel the tingling coldness
                                    On the nose again
                               From frosted wonder castles
                                    On the window pane.

                               Oh, if you're feeling lonesome
                                    For the summer breeze
                               Or the beauty of springtime
                                    On the bare-limbed trees.

                               Just find the key to childhood,
                                    Open wide the door.
                               There's sure tonic waiting
                                    Labelled "Days of Yore."

                               For nothing keeps a fellow
                                    Looking young and spry
                               Like wandering the pathways
                                    Of the days gone by.

from Your Home and Mine
Harold S. Wood
Toronto: Musson, 1932


  1. Nice poem. Thank you for finding it and sharing it. Have a great weekend.

  2. I know this poem as Harold S. Wood was my father-in-law. Thank you for printing it.

    1. I'm afraid I know very little about your father-in-law. If you do get an opportunity, I wonder whether you wouldn't mind dropping me a line by email (brianjohnbusby@gmail.com).