It’s cold. I hate it when autumn arrives
With its whistling winds and cloudy wet skies
My scrawny body with shivers is wracked
And upon it layers of clothes are stacked
Fingers lose dexterity
If I have the temerity
To try to complete the smallest of tasks
Surely it’s not too much to ask?
That I be allowed some comforting heat
While languishing in my wheelchair seat
Praying for summer sun
To give warmth to me, for one
I hide in my office, the smallest room
With lights ablaze to avoid the gloom
It’s lonely though, I have to admit
Another problem that makes this MND rather %@*^!!!