Short But Sweet

I was feeling kind of melancholy at work the other day and this short poem sort of formulated itself as the morning wore on:

My throat is sore
and across the floor
a chilly breeze does blow.
My feet are cold;
I feel so old
when temperatures dip low.

The shining sun
is all but done--
it shines to be polite.
Not much appeal
or warmth to feel;
It's rays are naught but light.

The woodstove's heat
is hard to beat;
It's a winter friend to me.
Add homemade stew
to warm me through,
and comfortable I'll be.

Although these things
cut winter's sting
the summer is still the best.
The skimpy clothes;
the suntanned toes;
Ahh... Comfortably undressed.

Rick Williams