Harsh Winter's come. That may sound dumb,|
So I guess I should warn ya
That I am spoiled. We're sometimes broiled
In Southern California,
But no one likes to ride on trikes
In cold, butt-freezing climates,
When air temps fall to what I call
Unfit for unfurred primates.
Sure, I'll admit this is a bit
I've never frozen sandaled toes,
So I may be berated
By those who dwell in snow-bound Hell
And wear so much apparel
From heads to toes (like Eskimos)
Their shape looks like a barrel.
I don't expect to get respect
By grumbling and complaining.
I wouldn't thrive but might survive
Low temps with long-term training,
Though here and now I don't see how
A trike ride might feel nifty.
It's just so cold; we've just been told
The temp's dipped down – to fifty!'
I want to ride! I look outside;
The overcast is clearing.
I'll bravely go. Although I know
Someone is smugly sneering,
I can't conceive, much less believe,
That they could think it's sporty
When folks up north still venture forth
In temps as low as FORTY!
Last updated 12/29/2021