Winter’s Woes

As winter sets in with a grey sneeze and splutter
And frostiness looms like a squall,
My toes threaten mutiny
And I begin to scrootini
Why we have this business of winter at all.

There’s an awful fuss about the beauteous snow
But I say with fervour, “Bollocks!”
For snow turns to slush,
And there’s nothing plush
About bruising the ground with your buttocks

Cars will stall and birds will fly south
And butter will refuse to soften
O! woe to margarine
But what vents my spleen
Is having to visit the loo so often.