Song of the Curmudgeon

You just have to know
that I’m feeling low
when the sun won’t shine
and the stars don’t show.

When the grass is brown
and the tree is down
and the prize ain’t mine
and the circus left town.

When the beer is warm
and we have a storm
and the temperature is nine
and the bees start to swarm.

When there’s no place to park
except in the dark
and my bottle of wine
tastes just like bark.

I think I was made
to be always dismayed
about stuff so benign
but I ain’t afraid.

Complaining is what
feels good in my gut.
You don’t like me to whine?
You can just kiss my butt!

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