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No Summer
Old Paul said
He didn’t think
We’ll get a summer
This year,
A deep snowpack
Refusing to let go
Of the mountains,
Skiing on
Mount Washington
On July 1st
Imagine that!
In all my years
I don’t remember
Such a time,
He shook his head
And said it reminded
Him when he was a kid,
They used to wonder
Why old people
Hung around so long,
And here I am
He smiled,
Overnight I have
Become an old fart,
At eighty-five
My sight won’t
Let me drive,
I have to rest
Half way to my gate,
I hope I’ll make another
Five years,
I’m the youngest
Of eighteen
And that would mean
That I hung
On to the mountain
The longest.
Stephen Nesbitt ©
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