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Country eyes The rain has stopped, the sun comes out The smell of flowers is all about and then The sound of tractor's roar, they're coming Down the lanes once more; to cut the hay To make the feed, to raise the dust that Makes us sneeze. The air is sweet, but Don't be swayed, the pollen count is high Today, an enemy that can't be seen, so grab Your anti-hista-mine and should your tears
Cause friends to sigh, just say that you've
© Joseph G Dawson Vote for this poem
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