Smoky fogs will hide the view,
Mud will get as thick as glue,
Rain, snow, hail will come in lieu
Of the warmth to which we grew
Quite accustomed, and will brew
Colds, coughs, influenza, rheumatism
to thrill us through.
Gone the sky of southern hue,
Cloudless space of cobalt blue!
Gone the nights so sultry—phew!