Up For Grabs
As February ends, and turns into March,
There’s something that I’d like to say:
Winter BEGONE! With your snow and slush,
And your skies of endless gray:
Can I dare to hope that my wish will be granted?
Can I shed some layers of clothes?
I’d sure like to see some signs of Spring,
But the truth is, I suppose,
That as long as I live in Cleveland, Ohio,
No rhyme or reason or sign,
Will ever predict the weather;
Every guess is as good as mine!