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The summer's good for tulips, |
|
Though pansies disagree. |
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They find the heat most distasteful, |
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And humidity far too grim to stand up tall |
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And bargain with the bees. |
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They prefer to droop and mope |
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And wait for autumn's breeze. |
|
|
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The autumn's good for pumpkins, |
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Though apples don't approve. |
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The trees that they've been living on |
|
now forces them to move, |
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And rudely lets them to fall |
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and sends them quick to their demise |
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Without so much a bon voyage or even a goodbye. |
|
|
|
The winter's good for penguins, |
|
Though brown bears must object. |
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When talk comes to the joys of winter, |
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They must interject, |
|
"Hibernating in the snow just isn't where it's at, |
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because sleeping makes you skinny, |
|
and we bears like to be fat." |
|
|
|
The springtime is the season, |
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Where everyone's a friend. |
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Loneliness and desperation both come to an end. |
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No matter how you died through winter, |
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In spring you're born again, |
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Your life might not be going good, |
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But spring helps you to pretend. |
