a rant

A rant Overcast, a doom of hot misery, is the day windows are open, but the curtains are still as ghosts on Christmas night Every year at then in July and August, my dream of living in a warm country fades where is Alexander Dumas's mild garden When the Arabs ruled the Algarve, they too wrote about shaded gardens, wrote verses of love while listening to songbirds What's left of dreams, are beach umbrellas  colorful, but not a substitute for roses and vulgar ale is not as sweet as wine