BY SAM S. STINSON
Winter is too cold fer work;
Freezin' weather makes me shirk.
Spring comes on an' finds me wishin'
I could end my days a-fishin'.
Then in summer, when it's hot,
I say work kin go to pot.
Autumn days, so calm an' hazy,
Sorter make me kinder lazy.
That's the way the seasons run.
Seems I can't git nothin' done.