Song Of Winter

Winter’s comin’, winter’s comin’,

     Git yewr flannels on;

Git yewr furs out Mary,

     Grease yewr hook-up John.

Batten down the winders,

     Stuff the broken panes;

Winter winds es whistlin’

     O’er the frosty plains.

Winter’s comin’, winter’s comin’,

     Roll the apples in;

Cover up pertaters

     Naked in the bins.

See the stock is cosy,

     Bag the cider pile;

Winter’s on the rampage,

     Meet him with a smile.

Nov. 15, ‘96

Pub. in N.Y. Sun. Herald,

Dec. 13, ‘96