It is that time of year again.
My unused shoes are covered by a mould,
My clothes are damp, my books look yellow, old.
And every now and then I feel the pain
Of fevers brought on by the steamy rain.
I do enjoy – the vivid green of trees,
The stormy sight of tumultuous seas
And waves that break in bursts of froth on rocks
And tetrapods that serve to break the shocks,
The feel of rain on my back as I swim
And watch blue water overflow the brim.
And yet my thoughts are of a different time
Of summers in a Mediterranean clime.
