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,
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?