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