When on weary Winter’s short days of grey,
And her mantle white on Earth doth lay,
The shining snowflakes earthward slide,
To hinder One’s peripetetical stride.
Landscape of white. Air so cold.
It calls for another pint of Old.
Spritely Spring Witter’s blindly on,
As youthful suns have always done.
Energetically exercising muscles new-found,
And transmitting wildly their naïve new sound.
When with you I fell in love,
I didn’t need too hard a shove.
The ‘Tanners lay like basking driftwood,
Carefully preserved in layers of mud,
While Marmalade on Toast burns in the blazing sun,
Her castles and donkey rides of youth are gone.
Your glowing cheeks induced by wine,
Match your flowing hair so fine.
September ushers in air that’s cold,
And Summer relinquishes Her last firm hold,
As Autumn’s chilly breezes blow,
So our love, but not the flora does grow.
If wishes were electric blankets to keep,
Then beggars would surely get some sleep.
Though fickle seasons change and wane,
My love for you will never die,
For I will always be your swain,
And I pray it’s the same for you as I.
Written by Robert Curtis