“The
frost is on the pumpkin,”
An’ the punkin’s on the vine;
The
vine is on the wither,
An' thet’s a winter sign.
The
chill is in the city,
An'
the poem’s on the vine;
But
I hope the “frost” won’t settle
On this little verse of mine.
Nov.
8, ‘97
C.
Press,
Dec.
24, ‘98
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