Poems about snow and a piece of snow

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SNOW

Snow sieve,

It's raining cats and dogs.

When I landed,

To my melting taffeta.

Cheerful snow,

White snow.

Let's collect snow,

Let's put it in a shape.

Guys, let's go, where,

Make Santa, G'ani.

Look at the tip of the nose,

Know the power of cold.

Shalpang ears stand up -

He stared at the sky.

It is still snowing,

We laugh out loud.

The game is overheated, too

Share the joy.

Cheerful snow,

White snow.

SNOW PIECE

Snow pieces, pieces,
He wears white spruce.
Mountains, hills, ravines,
Wrapped in white clothes.

The white man entered the house,
When I look, it's my dad.
I hit my father,
I laughed at my dad.

I straightened my collars,
I handed over the warm coat.

SNOW

Snow, snow, snow,

It shines all around.

Like a twinkling light,

White flour.

Sugar undek,

Sugar, I say.

If I eat,

I have a toothache.

Snow, snow, snow,

It shines all around.

Like a twinkling light.

SNOWS

One way to satisfy the earth,
It is snowing.
As if the sky were full of flour,
The air is also burning.

If there is a trace when I walk,
The snow is covering it fast,
My dog ​​is also pale,
He is running around me.

My grandmother is out of the window
She is very happy.
Summer comes to my mind,
The water is flowing!

SNOW

At this time, the desire for idleness is high,
For some reason, the snow melted.
With a verbal announcement from the announcer
It's really a hidden spring somewhere.

This opportunity is half-hearted,
Don't chase the nightingale from our epic.
What happened to you, narrator friends,
Take a look at the snow from our garden.

SNOW

Heavy snow fell on the darkened gardens,
Our memory came back to haunt us.

To the heart - from the hearts of all
Persecution - the total fell hard.

The nightingales are gone - is it love?
There is no rest - our love has fallen apart.

Give us the poison of love, heaven,
We were disappointed with the buyer.

Our eyes are fixed on the path of the painter,
Look at your window - it's raining.

Don't talk to Lily, the legend of love?
We are ashamed of ourselves.

On the nights of Yaldo we told the epic,
Unsurprisingly, we were right:

Oh, we hit, the oceans flew into the sky -
If not, did it snow in the gardens?

 

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