If Edgar Allan Poe Had Lived In Minnesota

Once upon a morning dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary
On the snow and rain about to fall
While I sobbed, consoled by nothing, save the ticket stubs and bunting
Of the cruise line plans I’d held in thrall
“Minnesota,” came the cry of grinning neighbors speeding by,
“We’re leaving you forever. Please don’t call!”
Deserted now, within my tomb, no solace lies within my room;
I long to dissipate the pall
Then, from deep within my grief, a single thought comes—sweet relief!
I drag my self up from my prostrate sprawl
And drag out satchel, suitcase, trunk, as salve for my unmoving funk
And pack my shorts, sunscreen and towel
Then with mounting glee I drive, as, feeling more and more alive,
I turn to say, “This weather! Nevermore!”