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It's getting rather chilly lately,
Scarf and gloves are out to make me
Snug against the unexpected cold.
I huddle in the woollen trust,
My confidence, which turned to dust,
Has settled in the crease of friendship's fold.

Tread the path with tepid sky,
Ashamed with water in the eye,
Approach the house with green upon the door.
Past the fence, creak the gate,
Find the key and hope I'm late,
There's letters on the mat upon the floor.

Strange to think that I, despite
The sun and artificial light,
Expected dark and sneezing dusty gloom.
Up the stairs, to the right,
To tolerate my sorry plight,
Embraced again the unfamiliar room.

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