Forsaken is the swimming hole that j lies back of the hill;: Therms no flowers on the honey* I suckle vine;But the ground with snow is cov-‘ ered, so my heart is happy still, For I'm voting for the winter every time.You may brag about the summer and the spring-time if you will; ■You may sing about the autunm with its harvests rich and fine;But the snow flakes softly falling | bring to me a greater thrill,So I’m voting for the winter every time.Of course I love* the fragrant flow* ers, and the grass so green andsweetAnd I’m fond of water melons that | I pull from off the vine;• But with these we get a mixture of ] the summer’s sultry heat,So I'm voting for the winter everytime.It’s too cold to go a fishing and camp | in some mountain shack Far away from all the city’s noise ! and grime';But we can go hunting and through t the snow the rabbits track;: The sport’s as fine as fishing anytime, ,—ZEB H. WOLFE,“The Plumber Poet, Easley.