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I was born in February

I am used to snow and the cold

I might fess that I like the snow

But with four months of white stuff

Even I am getting weary

Clearing the walk has gotten old

The flakes fall and the wind will blow

It becomes dreary all this fluff

The weight of snow I must carry

The scraped-off windshields take their toll

Going outside I can’t forego

I bundle up to face the chuff

I try to stay bright and merry

I dream of sunshine shining gold

When flowers bloom and plants will grow

The warmth is coming sure enough

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