Four Seasons…

Spring days melt ice to morning dew,
But then betray with ice anew,
And I collapse — a surly heap.

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Jubilant Summer’s fragrant brew;
A blessèd bath of heat, it’s true,
But far too humid for my sleep.

Fall blazes bright in amber hue,
Yet drains trees drab when job is through,
And that damn ragweed makes me weep.

Does Winter have any virtue?
Perhaps harsh cold or surging flu?
No, it can fuck right off.