| ||||||||||
| ||||||||||
| ||||||||||
| ||||||||||
| ||||||||||
|
| ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| >> Static Item >> Poetry >> Experience >> ID #1574107 |
| |||||||||||||
|
Summer's Ire
Fire ants, cottonwood allergies a' screaming Tall grass, hot tar roads mosquitoes are a' teeming Hot wind, sticky sweat how can one love this? Heat-blue sky, suntan lines are stuff I would not miss This time of year I despise with all the "joys" it brings Think I'll just hibernate and wait till winter sings
© Copyright 2009 Nikola (UN: nmarshall at Writing.Com).
All rights reserved.
Nikola has granted Writing.Com, its affiliates and syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work. |