In November, the snow starts to fly,
Piling up, ankle-high.
Come December, it's up to your knee,
Still a bride's a bride-to-be.
January, higher still,
To the parlor window sill.
February finds a drift
And the storm that seems never to lift.
March comes in like a lion, what else?
Still the snow never melts.
April showers will come, so they say.
But they don't, and it's May.
You're about to forget the whole thing,
All at once, one day, it's Spring.
Photo from here!