In Summer, Mother Nature can be as hot as a brothel’s attic.
In Winter, as cold as the end of Jack in The Shining.
When she is out and about in the violent cold of winter.
When the hoarfrost nips our noses and toeses.
We are seduced by her crystal earring’s shining.
And warmed all over again.
Like hot chocolate.
Amongst the shattered roses.
By Charles Buell