Winter comes; and our complaints
Grow apace as summer faints,
Waning days grow dull and drear,
Something tells, too well, I fear,
That I've found a germ or two;
Something seems - ee! - ah! Tish-OO.
Subthig certigly does tell
That I'b very far frob weel.
Ad I'b cadging cold, I fear
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem