It's a song I sing in summer,
for the heat is so severe;
a same old line at winter time,
in wishing summer here.
It's the same old tune of many,
I suppose I'm worst of all;
for through the cold it's heat I seek,
when hot, can't wait for fall!
I guess I'm self divided,
and can't make up my mind;
but God provides and takes all sides,
a choice for all mankind.
It's just too hot to garden,
high temperatures prevail,
like a warden fenced and cordon,
I'm free, but still in jail!
And the weeds have taken over,
'cause it's too darn hot to "weed",
and the lawn is so, no need to mow,
for the drought has killed the seed.
So I'm forced back in confinement,
back where the room is cold,
back to my chair to sit and stare,
at my TV of old.
And sit in total pleasure,
and dream of snow and ice,
and just pretend and wallow in
the nicety of life.
And dream of snow flakes falling,
the children on their sleighs,
the snow ball fights, the Christmas lights,
brings back my childhood days.
But if I sit here long enough,
fall will come anon,
then 'mid the trees and falling leaves,
I'll relish all I'm fond.
But low, behold, comes winter cold,
and I'm right back to be tied;
in my living room, the same old tune:
It's too darn cold outside!
William E. Hardison
