Small ice cubes nest upon my ..
but enough about rhymes, let's think about times I've had in the past to remember.
Those glorious days of readthoughs and plays taking me up to December.
And how now the dawn is striking the morn with plane-lines of glorious red,
and how I'm awake when I really should take much further rest in my bed.
As you can probably tell, this isn't a real post. I'm writing doggerel in an attempt to avoid doing the washing up. Sorry about that. Please move on.