Wednesday, 17 May 2017


Oh how you've been clinging to those icy grips
like languishing leaves lost among litter.
The weather, it tries its best to warn you
you'd be left directionless and bitter.

That's not to say it's cold all of the time
but rather a sudden forecasted front
and what meteorologists once said;
they'd now rather not be taking that punt.

The forecast's grim; but at least not for him
who's walking around in shorts and a vest.
His happiness shows, for he really knows
he's on the cold Earth only as a guest.

And when the ice melts, he'll swim in the flood
and when he's drowning he'll say "it is good".

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