
Summer fading, winter comes-- Frosty mornings, tingling thumbs, Window robins, winter rooks, And the picture story-books. Water now is turned to stone Nurse and I can walk upon; Still we find the flowing brooks In the picture story-books. All the pretty things put by, Wait upon the children's eye, Sheep and shepherds, trees and crooks, In the picture story-books. We may see how all things are Seas and cities, near and far, And the flying fairies' looks, In the picture story-books. How am I to sing your praise, Happy chimney-corner days, Sitting safe in nursery nooks, Reading picture story-books? Robert Louis Stevenson
Image:etsy.com-
Love it and sharing! Thanks, Eileen. 💞
LikeLiked by 1 person
Your welcome Bette. 🙂
LikeLike
Lovely, nostalgic poem, Eileen. My favorite pastime in winter when I was a child. My maternal grandmother and I read many a book sitting in her rocking chair in front of the fireplace.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Hello, how wonderful your grandmother was, you are blessed to have those memories.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Yes, I am.🙂💕
LikeLiked by 1 person
A beautiful and nostalgic share, Eileen. 💖
LikeLiked by 1 person
Hi Eugenia, Robert Louis Stevenson, as you might already know is my favorite.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Yes, and I understand why.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Honestly enchanting. Each season can whisk away every child’s imagination (adults included) thru the relentlessness of time. Books and poetry are perfect avenues. 🔔☕️☕️
LikeLiked by 1 person
Hello, they definitely are!
LikeLike
Very lovely poem and sounds just like the 19th century with it’ sinnocent words and darling pictures.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you, I was pleased when I found the painting because I thought it fit quite well with the poem.
LikeLiked by 1 person