A little breeze is sure to please
When temperatures are climbing,
So I will seize this tiny tease
To do some outdoor rhyming.
The radio is saying, though,
The weather will be brutal.
If that is so, then what I know
Is thinking will be futile.
So while I’m out, I will not pout
But sit and jot these verses,
For there’s no doubt no poems will sprout
In hotter temps - just curses!
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