One Hundred Days!
One hundred days of cold, cold, cold!
One hundred nights as well...
Another Winter to unfold
To rid us of this spell...
No snow as yet these eyes have seen,
Yet soon it has to fall...
For nine degrees can intervene
And send in part or all...
The gardens switch from green to white,
The birds compete for bread,
Survival makes them impolite,
It's no good being dead...
And cats and dogs are loathe to leave
Their warm homes far behind,
No wonder that they can't help grieve
When snow's out there to find!
The freezing cars don't always start
Till paths are shovelled clear,
It's all enough to break one's heart
And lose all Christmas cheer!
But that's the way life seems to be,
Cold fingers and cold toes
And sneezes that add misery
To each sore throat and nose...
No poodle dogs have I to stroll
Like in the years gone by,
When bitter Winters took their toll
And caused us all to sigh...
It's just me now, these months to bear,
One hundred days and nights!
With hoodie on and squashed down hair,
The poet that still writes!
Denis Martindale, copyright, January 2014.
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