I’ve reached that point, where all that matters
Is a warm and sunny day
Too often does cold, take bitter hold
And gnaw at my bones like decay
When the sun shines, there is some release
From the prison that is my home
I then struggle out, without a clout
With freedom, at last, to roam
On winter days, so short and cold
The four walls close in as a vice
Listening aghast, to the weather forecast
Promising snow and ice
Bed is sanctuary, where shivers subside
Though my nose asks for cover too
Like Oates to Scott, I know I’m facing my lot
When I briefly pop out to the loo
If this land goes to hell, in the proverbial handcart
For the young, I’d feel sorrow in large measure
It isn’t all sad; there’ll be one thing not bad
The heat I’ll enjoy with great pleasure