Whistling,
well out of tune,
a boon to the
tone deaf.

The wind came creeping up
while I was keeping warm.

I never heard the rustling leaves
the change of pitch,
the wind is such
a wicked witch.

Whistling now then
high and low
and notice how
so-so it is.

Winter calls me now the fall is here,
a weird day indeed when ducks
ski on the ice to feed.

I need a toddy,
hot,
I'm ready
for woollies,
long John's,
a bobble hat and
needing all of that
now.