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The Sugar Maples are turning gold,
The Oaks are a darkish red.
No Maple or Oak do I behold,
From anywhere near my Arizona head.
We have no Maple or Oak nearby,
Cacti, yes, we see it stand.
And hear the coyote mornfully cry,
And quail a-plenty all over the land.
Orange blossoms and other fruit,
But no Maple or Oak at all here.
And I am sure none will take root,
But there are other things I hold dear.
I bet that you who enjoy your tree
have never beheld a stick-lizard.
Or buzzards flying for you to see,
But then I never get caught in a blizzard.
I suppose whereever we should be,
Something special would appear,
Sights we can enjoy without a fee,
Something special and something dear.
No, I do not see the leave's color change,
Or sap the syrup from a tree.
But I enjoy the arid desert range,
And there is much for me to see.
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