I like my wool sweaters
Really I do
But by this time of year
You’d think I’d be through
Record cold temps
The weatherman tells me
So of my wool sweaters
I’m not yet set free
I have cotton blouses
And tee-shirts galore
Shucking the heavy stuff
That’s what spring’s for
Grey, beiges, and blacks
I’m so sick of these hues
I’m ready for paisley,
Pinks, and bright blues
Daffodils have blossomed
Robins have appeared
But I’m still wearing wool
Sorry, but that’s weird
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You write delightful poetry, very lyrical. I do enjoy reading them.
Oh dear! But thanks for taking a look at my silly poems about my silly life, Susan!