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Eskimo Song

Enter young man,
Into the room of snow,
You will be inside,
A white igloo.
The gray man strikes a match,
And soon it glows,
The old man is known,
As an Eskimo.
Icy wind whisks cold,
‘Round his once warm brow,
He must hunt against the harshness,
For his time is now.
How his sharp shouts bounce,
Off the coldness of the snow,
Now he must get,
His sleigh dogs to go.

©1999-2019 Steve Bujanow

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