
The boots are jumbled
together by the door.
Shovel's leaning lightly,
on the other side.
February, just won't die.
Blizzards crash through again
and again. It's time for
the snow to go. Retreat.
Melt, Good Lord...just go!
Tomorrow, I'm going to a "My Favorite Poem" event. I tried to find something apos pro to our times. I looked back to the six...
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