Bad poetry

mini puddle

To March’s Weather

The rain brings bogs, And muddy dogs.

What joy there be, In more laundry.

Fill holes in drive, Whilst mold spores thrive.

Find more ooze,  Tracked in on shoes.

The dogs still run, They’re having fun.

I slip and swear, and get nowhere.

Still summer’s heat, this rain has beat.

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