The Snake, by John Sinclair McIntyre

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Slithering through the clover, sliding through the rye,
The snake went out a-hunting, as warmer days were nigh.
Past were the days of Winter, with temperatures so cold,
When reptile minds were drowsy, but now! alert and bold.
So beware you footloose people where danger lurks unseen
In wait for careless trippers, in grass of brown or green.
Heed you this dire warning, if through the bush you roam,
Keep your eyes wide open, for snakes are there at home.