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I'm not the kind of season you think I am.
Why I was given Winter, Ill never know.
You think it’s easy making snow?
I simply can’t stand the goldurn cold,
and being a health threat to the old.
I know I seem like a callous jerk,
commiting so much callus work.
Sleet and slush are not my thing;
I’m glad to bring tobogganing,
but on the whole, I hate my lot,
and the nasty weather I must plot.
I’m aware many people do think kindly of me
but I’m not the sort of season I’m inclined to be.
The other seasons have to feel
so good they got a better deal.
(They all have more sex appeal.)
Spring is fraught with racy thoughts;
Summer offers most time for doing
everything under the sun,including wooing.
In conclusion, you on Earth,
take my word, for what it’s worth.
This may sound like nonsense,
but I’m a season with a conscience.
I regret those awful things I had to do,
and in the future I'll strike again, too.
So please accept my apology to you.
I didn't pick this job!
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