Frivolous Summer

The summer soon will leave us,

        Well, let her go;

We do not think twill grieve us,

        O, dear me, no!

She has not been a lover true,

She’s knocked our planning all askew;

She’s been so fickle through and through,

        So let her go.

She’s been too hot or else too cold,

        Ev’ry day;

Not quite so steady as of old,

        And most too gay.

Perhaps we feel a little sore,

Because she’s cost us so much more

Than in the summer days of yore

        In ev’ry way.

The summer days will soon be gone,

        Good bye, fair maid;

You’ve left us broke and quite forlorn

        And sorely frayed.

When winter comes we’ll wonder what

We did with all the pay we got;

But you’re to blame and we are not,

        You costly jade!

Aug. 27, ‘10