Here’s a tune for Christmas that’ll surely grow on you

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Mi, mi, mi, mi, mi.

Yes, call the neighbors and pour the eggnog because it is time to sing along in our annual Christmas carol garden ode.

This year found me writing feverishly at Bangor Dodge earlier in the month whilst my car underwent an expensive “oil change.” The older I and the car get, the better I understand how one little thing can lead to something much bigger.

That said, I belatedly realize how I must have looked, tapping out a beat, writing madly, crossing out what I just wrote and talking to myself – at least I hope it looked like I was talking to myself.

I was actually singing to myself.

For more than two hours.

Sorry if I scared the customers.

Now you – and my car – are all tuned up for this year’s Christmas carol, a lively rendition set to the tune of “Frosty the Snowman.”

With apologies to the authors, the Steves: Rollins and Nelson.

Sing it like Gene Autry, people.

“Frost Leaves Your Plants Dead”

Frost leaves your plants dead

Then the snow’s not far behind.

So you scurry round, cutting down

All the plants that once were fine.

Frost leaves your plants dead,

Say goodbye to harvest time.

‘Cause you can’t eat snow as the children know,

even if it comes in lime.

There is some kind of magic in those

Four seasons we crave.

If Mother Nature tries to thwart

We begin to rant and rave.

O, frost leaves your plants dead

Once alive with buzzing bees.

And the layers of all that

Winter gear just to shovel make you wheeze.

Clompity, clomp, clomp

Clompity, clomp, clomp

Look at summer go.

Clompity, clomp, clomp

Clompity, clomp, clomp

Watch out for falling snow.

Frost leaves your plants dead,

Temps rise the very next day.

So you haul out blankets, tarps and such

Trying to stave it all away.

But it’s all futile

Winter’s here before you know.

Grab your catalogs

And a cup of nog

To swallow this bitter pill.

You write right down: greenhouse, a plow!

Ask Santa for it all.

And you’ll only pause a moment when

Your loved ones holler “No!”

For frost leaves your plants dead,

It comes no matter what may.

So enjoy this time and, say, don’t you whine

Spring returns again one day.

Clompity, clomp, clomp

Clompity, clomp, clomp

Look at winter go.

Clompity, clomp, clomp

Clompity, clomp, clomp

It’s June before you know.

jpineo@bangordailynews.net