Tuesday, April 05, 2016

NaPoWriMo #5



12 frigid degrees
     On an April morn.
Robins flit about
     With open scorn.

Earth covered with
     Blanket white;
Where are the worms to eat?
     Frozen out of site.

Feathers fluffed, they
     Hop and cheep,
We should have stayed in Florida
     For another week!

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