Seasonal Nonsense
It’s so chilly that even the heater is shivering,
And the leaves in the picture on the wall are quivering.
Even the hands on the old grandfather clock have turned blue,
And the top of my protruding head is covered in dew.
I’m tugging at the blankets, wriggling further down the bed,
And clawing at my pillow in order to cover my head.
I’m curled up like a kitten, gloves and socks on hands and feet,
But no matter how I try, I can’t generate some heat.
Ahhh! The alarm clock hasn’t frozen obviously,
Pity, I’m in need of more sleep, not that I got any.
Well, I had better get up, I guess. Ouch! I’ve stubbed my toe,
So that’s where my hot water bottle went, ten degrees below.
I feel like an Eskimo, minus fur coat and igloo,
I’m reaching for some clothing just as stiff and starchy too.
Half asleep, I’m pulling clothes on (my woolly winter wear),
And now shuffling to the bathroom in a state of disrepair.
Ahhh! What’s that in the mirror? No, I dare not look again,
Even an artist would struggle with that, or a poet’s pen.
Okay, the usual ablutions, throw water at face,
Ouch! An icicle jabbed me. Where’s the water? Not a trace.
Bleary-eyed, I’m retreating in disgust down the hallway,
Heading towards the kitchen, feeling like a castaway.
Ahhh! Jolly cats! Seems they can see at night but not by day,
Or were they paralyzed with fear at my lunging their way.
Food? That’ll be a challenge. Where’s the bread? Could’ve guessed, frozen.
Well, it’s off to the pantry, where I’ll stick my big nose in.
Yes, just as I thought, it’s empty, and the fridge too, no doubt,
But I daren’t look in there, lest more frosty air billow out.
By Lance Landall