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James Whitcomb Riley - Climatic Sorcery
Work rating: Low

When frost`s all on our winder, an` the snow`s
  All out-o`-doors, our "Old-Kriss"-milkman goes
  A-drivin` round, ist purt`-nigh froze to death,
  With his old white mustache froze full o` breath.

  But when it`s summer an` all warm ag`in,
  He comes a-whistlin` an` a-drivin in
  Our alley, `thout no coat on, ner ain`t cold,
  Ner his mustache ain`t white, ner he ain`t old.
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