(NaPoWriMo 10) Canada

With my creased, dirty hands,
I feel the thin grass strands.
The meadow stretches ever on and on,
And on the ground are imbedded the tracks of a fawn.
The sun shines down without care,
On my pale skin, so fair.
Where I dwell, it is summer,
And the winter here is ever a bummer.
Here I stand, coated in musky mold,
I'm in Canada's strong, firm hold