(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