by William Henry Davies
A week ago I had a fire
To warm my feet, my hands, and face;
Cold winds, that never make a friend,
Crept in and out of every place.
Today the fields are rich in grass,
And buttercups in thousands grow;
I'll show the world where I have been--
With gold-dust seen on either shoe.
Till to my garden back I come,
Where bumble-bees for hours and hours
Sit on their soft, fat, velvet bums,
To wriggle out of hollow flowers.
Note: Today is the birthday of the English poet William Henry Davies. Davies loved the natural world, especially birds and butterflies. George Bernard Shaw was a fan of his work, and he wrote the preface of Davies' autobiography.