Sunny thoughts

(or so the poet said);

But when it reaches thirty-eight,

I’d rather stay in bed…

I dream of snowy mountain tops

And roads all wet and icy;

But trying to drive my little car,

Was really rather dicey.

So, with coughs and colds

(and those bouts of ‘flu);

Do I love a sunburnt country?

You bet your life I do.