It's come to this.
The fall is firework displays in colors bright and brash,
A veritable light show to be raked and hauled and trashed.
Yes nothing quite beats days that grow as short as they are cold.
If I said Fall was crappy I don't think that would be bold.
Now winter, that's an easy one, with all the cold and ice,
And though you'll come by people who will say the snow is nice,
Whose eyes will sparkle listening of Santa and his elves
I think that all the car crashes can speak fine for themselves.
The birds sing in the morning and you whine they wake you up.
I understand the problem given what was in your cup.
My friend and I discussed it and decided here's the thing:
These birds are just another reason why we hate the spring.
And finally there's summer, days of heat, and dry, and sweat,
Of traffic jams on Fridays and of cell phones cracked and wet,
Of searing sandy sunburns and of sailboats lost at sea,
I guess the fact is frankly there's no season that's for me.