The fall behind the winter now
entrenched despite a lack of snow
annual enchantment of my land
born here but not raised at first
may be a few years are what raised a thirst
I don’t mind the cold but I wish I had the ocean at hand
If I’ve fallen behind again
it may be sad or foolish but it’s not a sin
it’s not a crime I have harmed no one
but if so it’s not virtue either
no proof that I’m a bard or writer
that I picked it up that I again have begun
what
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