Polar Man, you’re losing your grip.
You’re getting tired and ill equipped.
Your fingers are weakening and getting numb
As you appear in the eyes of the midday sun.
Your days will be warmer and future somber,
Come April as you run and hide ‘til December.
The home stretch is on nigh for all Polar Men
When the gentle zephyrs travel through the glen.
You’re too old and tired to bring out the leaves
On the barren maples and wake up the bees.
The home stretch is near, so go home and sleep,
And dream of winter as you count your sheep.
Good-by and good riddance, Ole’ Polar Man.