The wind was rough
And cold and blough
She kept her hands inside her mough.

It chilled her through
Her nose turned blough
And still the squall the faster flough.

And yet although
There was no snough
The weather was a cruel fough.

It made her cough
(Please do not scough)
She coughed until her hat blew ough!

by Bennet Cerf

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