There’s no denying snow looks fine,

It makes the scenery divine,

 But what effect on bird and beast?

I’m sure they like the snow the least.

 

They migrate down the mountainside

To lower levels and abide,

They beg the sun to melt the cold,

Because they’re tired of being bold.

 

In summertime the hillsides warm

And sunny bees will hum and swarm,

The berries waft about their taste,

So very few will go to waste.

 

The easy life of leisure times

Is special to the warmer climes,

And when the frosts of winter leave,

The living hill enjoys reprieve.