Autumn’s nigh,
Not near enough,
The heated sigh.
My former home,
The great white north,
Fall here and gone,
The snow brought forth.
And they sigh too,
These frozen clans,
They miss the days
Of warm suntans.
‘Tis tough enough,
Creator’s job,
But please us all,
The fickle mob.
--can't seem to come up with a title for this one. Any suggestions?
- TOSK
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