“A circus for sure!”
That’s what the yankees say
As they trample our homes
With frolic and play,
Like elephants trumpeting
All around the ring,
But they have no Ringlings
On which to place blame.

We may be a circus
But that comes from our roots.
We‘re lions and tigers
(But not Bears,
That’s just rude).
We may be hoopers, magicians,
Musicians, and clowns,
But our big top still stands
At the center of town.

The cold weather embraces you,
And you embrace the cold.
The shivers shake and often quake,
And the chattering teeth grow old.
The wind, it sings,
Can even howl,
And at worse it slaps your face
To make you wonder why you left
The sun for this cold place.

But then you see
Just up ahead
A fire roaring loud,
Circled by friends huddled together,
Keeping warm for they are proud
To withstand the weather others can’t
And brag their skin is thicker, too
For they have not quit
On Winter Incarnate,
And it will not quit on you.

The Prince of Shawano
Is burnt by the sun in the fields
But more by the sun on the lakes.
He’s surrounded by friends that he buys
And those that he makes.
He bathes in Sun Drop
That he drinks by the bottle.
He sits on his throne
As the Crown Prince of Shawano.

Waving to Lake Michigan,
The dunes,
Piling years of sand
And earth
And history,
Mark the port of entry
For the Irish and German
Wanderers
Stepping into a place
They’ll give to their kids
And their kids’ kids
And their heirs who share
The same love for pilsner
So strong that
They’ll breed 3 sheep
Just to tap the keg.

Those dunes split just enough
To give them enough passage
To settle this lakefront land
Not far from their boats.

The flowing
Bubbly
River
Weaves from horizon
To horizon
All the while
Bubbling
In the face
Of its older brother
To the West.