| In the days when the winter wanes The winds do turn the weather vanes To point toward the coming spring When birds shall fly upon the wing. They shall return the air to fill And we shall climb once more the hill Which overlooks the festal day When all our cares shall flee away. Now if this rhyme non-sequitur Know that this bard is truly dour He writes not logic for to make But merely hopes yo’enjoy your cake. |
