(to be sung to the tune of Frank Sinatra’s “Summer Wind”)
I’ve lost my wits upon seeing “it’s” where “its” should be
I held my tongue and sat among the callous laity
But now it’s time to set in rhyme, and proclaim across the land
Two tirades, and then let summer win
If you’re like me, you don’t like to be a mere contrarian
None can abide, yet none can deride, a militant grammarian
It’s “there” for “their,” and “pair” for “pare,” and every travesty
And your endless gerunds end, they end and the summer wins
Your shifting tense can’t be recompensed by thesaural novelty
Your commas spawn, they go, on, and, on, inexplicably
And guess who’s stuck wading through your muck, through years that never end
I’ve had my fill, now let’s let summer win
Summer win
Warm summer win
Mmmmm summer win