I do not like the winter wind That whistles from the North. My upper teeth and those beneath, They jitter back and forth. Oh, some are hanged, and some are skinned And others face the winter wind.
I do not like the summer sun That scorches the horizon. Though some delight in Fahrenheit, To me it's deadly pizen. I think the life would be more fun Without the simmering summer Sun.
I do not like the signs of spring, The fever and the chills, The icy mud, the puny bud, The frozen daffodils. Let other poets gaily sing; I do not like the signs of spring.
I do not like the foggy fall That strips the maples bare; The radiator's mating call, The dank, rheumatic air. I fear that taken all in all, I do not like the fall.
The winter sun is always kind, And summer wind's a savior, And I'll merrily sing of fall and spring When they're on their good behaviour. But otherwise I see no reason To speak in praise of any season.