The Whir of the AC
The constant whir of the AC
Is not so constant anymore.
Its voice has faded in the past,
Like people dying over time.
Its silence says that fall has come.
Though autumn’s such a joy to me,
I know the snow’s not far behind.
I like it less, not in my prime.
And still fresh in my memory
Are days of playing in the snow.
I used to like to downhill ski
And sledride down the hill so fast.
The AC’s whir’s reminding me
That life on Earth’s not made to last.
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