In the Winter, he carried his torch and hoped for Spring.
He waited yet the birds never did sing.
So Summer came and went,
and with Autumn brought rain.
And once again he found himself greeting Winter.
The cold air, brisk and to the point.
The trees, dead in appearance yet very much alive.
And then Spring came and he let it pass.
He waited for the cold he knew too well.
Funds to send Mike to Mars
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