![](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8SbyHTebA-H4BEFVVDVfQmC7Ozs1SCO1GdSS6EqwR-AJueqHl1w1VjveuWFegaMLsqCXvAWMGhIxcx3tYsPE7LrASdyaw7LsrXaruRSbkSGk79_0R-mFSbF2OPj7cyFOr_TGi0uc3HCPJ/s200/summer.jpg)
The prompt, to summarize: write a poem in the form of a complaint about something that is good
Summer
Not a season but a pastime.
Your father thinks it is a verb;
And for me, someone who
Personally defines wait
In a separate classification,
The time will be perceived
In a different way
And end on a different day...
.
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