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hunting season

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The leaves are still green,
The sun shines bright,
The scent of pollen fills the air,
A slight breeze has picked up,
The ground damp,
The air moist,
I dig my nails in the ground,
The result is flaky mud in an around,
my pink coloured nail,
Spotting willow here and there,
One has yellow autumn leaves,
Some eaten leaves spotting the trees,
Mosquitoes are pinching my arm,
Little needles embedding,
Leaving a itchy imprint,
I spy in the sky a bright sun,
blind eyes,
I wonder when the green will be yellow,
Or when the leaves fall,
When once again,
The leaves are not green but yellow,
Soon to shower the ground,
When I walk through,
Crunch will sound,
Nights be cold,
Morning be frosted over,
Sunrise will slow,
Sunset will flow,
The season of hunt,
I will leave,
To be blunt,
I will shoot a shot,
Fill my ticket spot,
My target big,
I will take a moose downfall,
To wait next fall.




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