Classic Poem

Mister March gone howlin' —
Des lak he drunk wid dram:
He fling his fros' at Aperl
En hit de steeples — ba-am!
But Aperl, in his rosy yard,
He say, " Go 'long, you ole blowhard! "

De Vi'lets hunt fer kiver.
De peach blooms lef' de place,
De half-dress' Lily shiver,
De Rose red in de face!
But Aperl say: " My task is plain:
I'll beat you back wid silver rain! "

En den he git a armful
Er all his lilies white,
En take his rain en roses
En pelt 'im out er sight!
But March, he say dat he don't keer, —
" I bet you I'll be back nex' year! "