Surely the fact that I am now waxing poetic is evidence of the severity of my cabin fever.
Oh, spring
Will you ever come?
I can not endure
One more day with out the sun.
Underneath the frozen snow
There is green grass, I know.
Another day trapped inside,
And I will surely loose my mind.
Children climbing walls
Give me the feeling
That I want to cling
To the ceiling.
That darn old ground hog
Saw his shadow.
If our paths should cross,
He’ll see the barrel
Of my husband’s riffle.
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