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
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