FROST IN OZ

I see icicles everywhere —

On my bike and on the stair.

Down on the gate and on the grass,

Our chooks are giving eggs a pass.

I see icicles hither and yon,

I see them hanging on Uncle Ron,

On the dunny and on the ’roo,

And on my mother’s washing too.

I reckon this year the frost is worse,

With icicles on the local hearse.

I’ve never seen this kind of dew —

What’s Australia coming to?