Wednesday, November 19, 2014


      Nineteen degrees it is in Buffalo,
      A city that’s notorious for snow,
      But yesterday’s was such a super-doosie
      It made a roof-top shoveller feel woosie—
      Imagining a place like Florida
      Or somewhere South that’s even torrider,
      Resolving that if he had a vacation,
      He’d join the other Northerners’ invasion
      Of the ever-beckoning Sunshine State,
      Imagining a rowboat, line and bait,
      And basking in the lazy afternoon
      While whistling a happy little tune,
          “You are my sunshine,” and feeling grand—
          So glad to trade in snow for palms and sand.