Dear February,
Come hither.
Look at me,
I'm beginning to wither.
Put me out,
Of my agony
Show me now,
How it will be.
I reach out,
For the fire
Burn my hands,
But still don't tire.
Everyday I stay,
I decide,
To grow a pair,
And toughen my hide.
Like a weakling,
I trudge along.
Looking for salvation,
In the depths of a bong.
My dear February,
Please come now.
Hasten the time,
And take a final bow.
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