Treasure Island

Angela Wybrow

(Salisbury, Wilts, UK)

The Deceiving Sun


The sun looks deceivingly warm, when I’m at home,
But the cold wind outside, chills me to the very bone.
In the bright sunshine, I thought that I would bake,
But it’s freezing, and my poor fingers actually ache.

I left my jacket back at home, hung there on its peg.
For the sun to warm my frozen soul, I now do beg.
I think I will seriously have to consider my attire,
If warmth is what I seek, and is what I really desire.

The sun’s glare is so bright, and almost blinding;
Way too bright for my eyes, I am now finding.
I put on my sunglasses, to stop the sun’s glare.
The wild wind blows, and roughly ruffles my hair.

Inwardly, my nerves sense the chill, and they shiver.
Outwardly, my body can’t help, but give a slight quiver.
Only a few days previous, the weather was really hot;
There was so much warmth in the sun: now, there’s not.

I can feel the wicked wind’s powerful force;
It pushes against me, and slows my course.
The freezing wind relentlessly blows in my face.
I’m keen to escape it, and now quicken my pace.

Finally, I reach home, and switch on the heat;
I feel the warmth return to my fingers and feet.
From the wind’s relentless pounding, I’m finally free.
I snuggle down on the sofa, with a nice mug of hot tea.

Submitted: Friday, May 10, 2013
Edited: Tuesday, September 17, 2013

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