From a Paragrapher’s Garden of Verses
In winter, when I have to write,
I hate to do my work at night;
In summer, quite the other way,
I hate to have to write by day.
I hate to do my work at night;
In summer, quite the other way,
I hate to have to write by day.
What time the year is at the spring,
I hate to work like anything;
And in the days of early fall
I sort of hate to work at all.
I hate to work like anything;
And in the days of early fall
I sort of hate to work at all.
Oh, does it not seem hard to you
That people should have work to do?
But I cannot afford to miss,
And so I pen a pome like this.
That people should have work to do?
But I cannot afford to miss,
And so I pen a pome like this.