The birdies they are quiet today,
When thunderstorms come it’s always this way,
Hunkering in little clusters
Devoid of customary bluster.

We humans with our snoots to full
Are trapped by booze’s full-on pull.
And thus tonight we celebrate detox
Fishing for smallmouth off the dock.

Old horses can’t learn new tricks, it’s writ
But this seems to me a ration of shit.
When faced with brain cell deficits
Put the truck in gear D and make yourself git.

We humans in stormy times
Quaff copious alcohol and stay inside.
Lots of boozers eventually die
Not from lightning, which tends to fry
But cirrhosis of the liver, which kills you dry.

Do dogs “hear” music?