Makes all the ringers take their share
From four to six.
AN ANTE-CHRISTMAS RONDEAU
“'Tis a sad story, mates.”—Marie Corelli.
It's up to me—the winds are chill
And snow clouds drift from o'er the hill,
At dawn the rime is on the grass,
At five o'clock we light the gas,
And long gone is the daffodil.
Jack Frost draws flowers upon the glass