I hope it won’t sound like it’s pointless or silly
To mention Sentember has turned on the chilly;
For to us who-hate winter, it make’s quite a point
That the weather is throwing itself out of joint.
This edge to the morning’s predicting the frost
Which’ll mean my last round with the garden is lost.
It points to the ice and the snow and the sleeting,
The troubles with chimneys and plumbing and heating;
To the grief with our sinuses, tonsils and throat;
To the wrestling with muffler and jacket and coat;
To the fight with the car that won’t start in the mornings
(To have traded in ‘Forty-one, heeding those warnings!)
When the frost starts to heckle the pumpkins and gourds,
I envy the Calif. and Florida hordes.
(There’re some try to minimize all this by drooling,
“I love the Cold Weather!” but whom are they fooling?)
by Ray Romine Sunday, September 12, 1943
