He's wrapped to the heels in a snow-y white sack;
The trees he has lad-en till read-y to crack;
He whis-tles his trills with a won-der-ful knack,
For he comes from a cold coun-tree.
A fun-ny old fel-low is Win-ter, I trow,
A mer-ry old fel-low for glee:
He paints all the no-ses a beau-ti-ful hue,
He counts all our fin-gers, and pinch-es them too;
Our toes he gets hold of through stock-ing and shoe;
For a fun-ny old fel-low is he.