NO matter how hard you try, Old crying wind, you cannot make us cry, You make the poor leaves sorry—very, But we shall keep on being merry; It's good it's true Not all the months behave like you, Blowing mean, and blowing cold, Hurting ragged folks and old, As if you never would be through; But never mind, Right near the end we'll find A time for all to laugh and play; You may be all the month unkind But after all, you bring Thanksgiving Day And that makes us glad— And so, cold old month, you're not so bad! |