Classic Poem

Lady, as you flee the blowing
Breath from Boreas his mouth,
As, in other words, you're going
South.

As the buzzing bee the honey
Craves, the baseball fan the score,
Seek you now the balmy, sunny
Shore.

You, the world your pleasing plaything;
You, the universe your lute —
You will lie there in a bathing
Suit.

Reckless of the rays that blind you,
Scornful of the suns that sear,
Heedless of the bard behind you
Here;

Lady, you may have forgotten
All the rigors of this clime,
So I hope you have a rotten