One of the ladies in our
Wrote of February's days, cold, bleak and of croup.
We all sitting around her asked, "What did she say?"
After the shoot for that blasting holiday,
Left folks struggle through hung over emotion.
Tired wallets, low brows and plain no fun.
"Which is worse?" We ask.
"Grown folk bearing flask?"
"Or those same folk angry now,
Cruisin' for a rowe?"
"Is there a cabin in the sky,
Where for four month I can fly?"
"Lest they all one year do me harm,
For being jolly as a school mar'm.
Can't teach them to give a gift
When loved one's need a lift,
Instead of lumped all together,
Only in December end's weather.
The thought of love is lost in the frenzy
Of things bought in a rush with whimsey