Fire: too hot for tweed

A glimpse,
A glimmer
Of gold
Lights up our souls,
Lifts heavy hanging heads.
The rarity of fiery hours
With faultless blue above,
Sends us rushing from
Double glazed
Thermal insulation
Into open air,
Delicious,
Divine,
We eat it up greedily,
Grinning,
Spinning out hours
Beyond sunset,
Firebrick warm beneath the feet.
We sleep soundly,
With underlying expectation
Of tomorrow’s grey.

Yet, another day begins
Beaming through the slatted blinds and
We are gifted with gilt once more.
Again
and
again.
Day
after
day
We are drenched in sunlight:
Satiated,
Saturated,
Burnt out.

A staple diet of
Grey clouds and drizzle
Is no preparation for
This all inclusive,
Pepper pot banquet,
This endless hog roasting BBQ.
We need relief,
Release from this bondage
To bathe and bare all
Beyond tolerance.

We are a nation of tweed,
Log burners
And whiskey,
Flying towards the fire
On budget airlines
Then home again,
To warm tea and custard creams.

But we are trapped like moths
Circling a candle flame
Singed wings, weary from the beating.
Oh to complain of rain…..

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