Inside the Tent
The canvas flaps hang soaked by summer rain,
While sitting herein, drinking tea again,
The British summer is, once more, a pain,
Another holiday that’s planned in vain.
The beach lies abandoned by one and all,
So none can hear the rippling tidal call,
As summer limps so slowly on to fall,
And working weeks, our backs against the wall.
Yet in this misery I see beauty smile,
My days spent with you are never banal,
Just counting the raindrops becomes worthwhile,
A chocolate digestive shared with you,
‘Tis great pleasure when things are done by two,
No rainy day will dare to make me blue.
Form: Arabian Sonnet
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