MAXIMS OF THE MONTHS.
(Composed during the recent Spring snowstorm.)
From January's start to close
It rains or hails or sleets or snows.
For atmospherical vagaries
The palm perhaps is February's.
To say March exits like a lamb
Is Falsehood's very grandest slam.
April may smile in Patagonia,
But here it always breeds pneumonia.
May, alternating sun and blizzard,
Plays havoc with the stoutest gizzard.
No part of England is immune
From frost and thunder-storms in June.
Only the suicide lays by
His thickest hose throughout July.
August, in spite of dog-days' heat,
For floods is very hard to beat.
The equinoctial gales, remember,
Are at their worst in mid-September.
Old folk, however hale and sober,
Die very freely in October.
November with its clammy fogs
The bronchial region chokes and clogs.
December, with its dearth of sun,
For sheer discomfort takes the bun.