Winter Mournings

So let me tell you how it goes,

With dreams of sunburns and sandy toes,

When you wake to the winter wind that blows,

Through summer’s still opened window,

 

It slaps you rudely in the face,

This nightly utopia abruptly replaced,

By the nips of frost around your face,

And the lingering feel of leather and lace,

 

While my feet lie sadly in squishy socks,

And every door seems tightly locked,

My bags are packed and my cupboard stocked,

I count the hours, tick tock, tick tock, tick tock…

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