By: Ardis E. Parshall - January 10, 2019 January By Marijane Morris He stands outside my door, his capeOf white in folds about his feet.He wears a sprig of evergreenOnce tinseled bright and forest-sweet. Some folk would not invite him in,But I don’t mind his stay at all.You see, I bottled yellow sunshineAnd stored it on my shelves last fall. (1948) ...
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