An ode to one fine day

Of God and Big Bird.

But not when the ginkgos

Still glittered like gold

No, not till the weather

Turned bitter and cold.

.

In other words, Friday.

.

"There's thunderstorms coming,"

Old Tom Skilling said,

"The temps will soon drop

And your garden's soon dead."

.

'Twas nice while it lasted

The final nice day

But here's one last thing

That my mother would say:

.

No matter the weather

Or winner we know:

That every day's nice

If you say that it's so.

mschmich@tribune.com

CHICAGO

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