The world has ice, the world has snow,
But in our hearts, New Yorkers know
That when our snow is really lush
We next will have our magic slush.
When blocked-up drain makes sudden lake
Into which you plunge each step you take,
When just the slightest passing push
Slides you down right into the mush,
When taxis splash your pants all wet
Real New Yorkers never fret.
We do not fear the mugger’s cosh:
They don’t come out into the slosh.
Un-picked-up dog poop is froze;
You stay parked whichever side you chose;
As long as you’ve got bags of cash
You’ll score Hamilton tickets in a flash.
So celebrate these happy times
And do not wish for milder climes.
You do not need to find a cush–
ion for your tender tush.
Just grab a walker’s multi-leash
And do not stop when he says, “Sheesh!”
And now, with dogs since you are flush,
Order your new team to “Mush!”
Ten thousand steps you soon will crush
As you traverse our New York slush.
Brava! Brava! Author! Author!!!!!
Author has fallen on tender tush, is unavailable for comment.