He was obsessed with frost and snow,
And every summer he would go
Somewhere where bitter winds would blow.
He was a “sunbird,” I would say—
Reverse of “snowbird,” every way.
He hated any sunny day—
Unless the sun lit bitter cold,
And then he would (or so I'm told)
Feel somewhat—just a bit—consoled.
But bitter cold so quickly wears
The body. Fatally impairs.
They buried him near polar bears.
Who groaned an ursine sort of groan—
Part growl, somewhat—a bit of moan—
For they had lost one of their own.