Walmartum Eta Sigma”
Oh! Sweet Connecticut, tell me what,
implore others to inquire where I dwell?
To which I proudly declare, well
it’s the greater hemisphere that rests,
between New York and the Massachusetts.
Touted as the deep south of New England, ‘
often in desperate times, it is the Walmart which
is our Hyde park, where spectacles are
staged and a tongue is lashed at every Isle.
A brow is twictched, a lash fluttering;
in a pursuit of that fairest toilet paper.
In the frigid colds locals turn inwards,
snugging their priveldge and old charms.
And when odious winter hours become unbearable,
journeys are embarked on the pilgrimage;
to the nearest station, to maintain a visage.
Lord is the witness, for the stock exchange
farmers toil hard, to extract wine out of the;
unripe blueberries and gaze with snobbery,
and the exalted pride.
Every big man, you once encountered has moved,
while earthly nymphs in their fair bosoms;
are secretly hatching a conspiracy to fly out.
For humble folks, rising tempers and taxation
has turned friends into foes. But don’t
get me wrong, when the springs abound;
everything once again turns into mirth and merry.
Highest praise is due to our well-bred dame,
lady Martha Stewart whose mansion is not that
far away, and now you know why;
everyone’s future look so down and trodden.
But behold, don’t fret or fume, both beer
and bear has been on a steady incline.
A matchless diversity we often look with disdain
at those, who are neither old nor affluent and
frown upon those whose appearances
don’t match with our very own.
Despite the hardships abead, both
natives and the migrants bask in it’s glory alike,
while secretly dreaming about the
sun-shine city of Florida.
For all you lovely folks out there,
I intend no harm here,
so repair your charms,
and after reading simply move on!