It’s the season of tricks and of treats,
And in Autumn, my poet’s heart beats
With desire to write
A great ode … but, oh shite!
It’s already been done by old Keats.
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When there’s colds to be caught, I have caught ’em,
And the flu has me feeling post-mortem.
Freezing rain, wind and fog
Make me sick as a dog …
That’s just Summer; it’s worse in the Autumn.
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