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 %@*^!!!
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