Lament (Part XVIIII)
If your Ice Age went away and didn’t tell you why,
someone must have said something to make it say goodbye.
It would leave the place tidy, scrapped nice and clean,
a little damp here and there perhaps, but not a trace of green.
As all that water drained away you’d just have one big bog.
Not much to write home about unless you’re a duck or a frog.
You really wouldn’t want to live in all that wet and cold,
unless of course you’re a King Cup, a Marsh Marigold.