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Cold | ||
| The sun is bright but not too warm. The wind is whipping true to form. The sun in vain still tries to heat But chillness has benumbed our feet. Where has the heat so fully gone To make us keep our mittens on? Perhaps it went to warm the South. That's what I hear, by word of mouth. When it gets done it will return, If we do not our hopes adjourn. The cold will pass in God's good time As will this silly little rhyme. | ||
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