Winter, You're Naught but a Rogue

Winter, you're naught but a rogue.

Summer is pleasant and kind,

as we see from May and April,

which accompany it evening and morn.

Summer, by nature's order, clothes fields, woods and flowers

with its livery of green

and many other hues.

But you, Winter, are too full

of snow, wind, rain and sleet.

We must send you into exile.

I'm no flatterer and I speak my mind.

Winter, you're naught but a rogue.