My Mother's Got Me Bundled Up

By: Jack Prelutsky

My mother's got me bundled up

in tons of winter clothes,

you could not recognize me

if I did not have a nose.

I'd wear much less, but she'd get mad

if I dared disobey her,

so I stay wrapped from head to toe

in layer after layer.

I am wearing extra sweaters,

I am wearing extra socks,

my galoshes are so heavy

that my ankles seem like rocks.

I am wearing scarves and earmuffs,

I am wearing itchy pants,

my legs feel like they're swarming

with a million tiny ants.

My mittens are enormous

and my coat weighs more than me,

my woolen hat and ski mask

make it difficult to see.

It's hard to move, and when I try

I waddle, then I flop,

I'm the living, breathing model

of a walking clothing shop.

My Mother Took Me Skating

By: Jack Prelutsky

My mother took me skating

and we glided on the ice,

I wasn't very good at it

and stumbled more than twice.

My mother made a figure eight,

and since it seemed like fun,

I tried a little trick myself

and made a figure one.

Winter Signs

By: Jack Prelutsky

Winter signs are everywhere,

the winter winds are nipping,

winter snow is in my hair,

my winter nose is dripping.

Winter Clothes

By: Karla Kuskin

Under my hood I have a hat

And under that

My hair is flat.

Under my coat

My sweater's blue.

My sweater's red.

I'm wearing two.

My muffler muffles to my chin

And round my neck

And then tucks in.

My gloves were knitted

By my aunts.

I've mittens too

And pants

And pants

And boots

And shoes

With socks inside.

The boots are rubber, red and wide.

And when I walk

I must not fall

Because I can't get up at all.

Snowball

By: Shel Silverstein

I made myself a snowball

As perfect as could be.

I thought I'd keep it as a pet

And let it sleep with me.

I made it some pajamas

And a pillow for its head.

Then last night it ran away,

But first - it wet the bed.