South facing hill
My land is warm,
Sheltered from the winter wind.
My neighbor faces north.
He and cold are kin.
I have daffodils
In earliest spring,
While his land lies
Under snowy wing.
My fruit trees bloom
In colors, pink and white,
While his stay hidden
And out of sight!
With Marches’ last gasp
A frost hits all
He picks his fruit
While I have Fall.
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