There’s a little frosty painter Who soon will come around
To put a silver edging on
The grasses on the ground,
Upon the window he’ll paint
A fairy landscape, strange and ,
And some cold morning you’ll awake
To find he’s frosted Mother’s cake.
 
Now can you guess who this little frosty painter is? Why, it’s Frost, the son of King Winter.
 
“Ha, ha,” crowed the Weathercock on the Big Red Barn. “Jack Frost is here, for I can see the silver frost upon the grass in the Sunny Meadow,” and then that rooster turned his head to the North and blew on his toes to keep them warm.
 
Pretty soon Old Sic’em walked out of his little dog house and shook himself. “Bow wow,” he said, “it’s a morning.”
 
“Cock-a-doodle-do,” said Cocky Doodle, and then Henny Penny cackled loudly:
 
“I’ve laid an egg so white and clean
’Twould grace a breakfast for a queen.
But if a little girl should beg
The farmer for my pretty egg,
I’d tell him quick to let her go
And take my egg as white as snow.”
 
As the little hen finished her song, she noticed Little Jack Rabbit by the Old Rail Fence.
 
“Helloa, Mrs. Henny Penny,” he said. “I like your song. If I se............