Thou art, of truth, a foe
Woe betide thee, oh snow
Once thy fall shall thaw,
Thou shall stand in awe.
When open wide, thy mouth agape,
In the sun, dyed, thy drape.
When, dripping down, comes the rain,
Thou, acting, a frown, shan’t feign.
At the thievish color of night,
Thy peevish color of white
Shan’t, shouting, rant and rave.
Thou, mounting, might give a wave,
For only a night there could be
Thyself to save ahead of thee
’Fore clouds quickly drift and sway
And under the blazing sun, left, thou lay
For alas I’m old and my hair gone grey
And there ahead of me, approaching, is the day.