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From: "Bob Donohoe" <>
Subject: [GENHUMOR] Chilled Poem
Date: Wed, 17 Jan 2007 16:48:51 -0500

Reference Pg. 60 December 2006 issue of the magazine titled "Reminisce"


A POEM TO CHILL THE SOUL


The following verse is from "Don McNeill's Favorite Poems," a book compiled by the breakfast Club radio show host in 1951 and sent to us by Doral Martin of Sedro-woolley, Washington,

COLD FEET
Did you ever go to bed at night
And crawl beneath the sheet,
To have your slumber ruined
By a pair of icy feet?

There's many a poor husband
Who groans in deep despair
When he finds beneath the covers
Lies a two-foot Frigidaire.

What is the use of counting sheep
It's just a waste of breath;
Those poor defenseless animals
Would simply freeze to death


It's bad enough to try to rest
Where heated comforts lack.
But, oh, the shivering torture
Of a chilled foot in one's back.

No Male on earth can rise at morn
With spirits gay and bright
When he's been thus imprisoned
In cold storage all the night.

. The little wife who shares his bed
May have a heart of gold.
But why did nature spoil the job
With feet so bitter cold?

There's far more frigid temperatures
In a woman's single toe
Than there is in Artic circles
Where it's 45 below

Why don't some brilliant scientist
Invent an antifreeze
To bring the circulation back
Below milady's knees?

Still, there's one consolation
If you'd check upon it, men.
Be glad your spouse has but two feet
Instead of nine or ten.
Ruth Ann Dunne

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• [GENHUMOR] Chilled Poem by "Bob Donohoe" <>