As Slow As Syrup And As Long As The Mississippi

Though I've lived the Mississippi Seasons, approaching Two and a Half Decades It Still Perturbs Me how The Weather Is Forgotten Anew. The Summers Are Long, Crawling Ordeals, and in my opinion If I May Dispute Frost Is Not As Nice To Freeze If I were To Die Twice.

I would prefer Neither Yet Both My Skin Cool And My Ears Not Bitten By Cold. But If I Were To voice this internal dispute aloud to the universe to whom would I even Send It, zephyr perhaps, or Gabriel. Though In the past five years my studies have progressed well, in the spur of the moment I can't quite grasp the answer so fruitlessly memorized in the past.