The weather changes with the hour
My, it must be fall already
Half the day is turning sour
But the rest is never steady
For it turns back in a trice
Makes the day confused and strange
Half of everything is nice
But the terror is the range.
Why is fall so very horrid
When beginning? After all
Though the mornings may be torrid
By November I like fall.
It's because the summer hates
Leaving us, and defecates.
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