In the bleak midwinter…


This is grim; it seems no end in sight

Though perhaps the darkest point is here,

The plumber will come, and this freezing night

Will die, and glow of morning reappear.

Until then we are reduced to a tribal dance

Negotiating the ice-cold shower,

Scott of the Antarctic would have no chance

But cometh the man when cometh the hour.

But what a test for my elderly heart,

Though to ease the pain the plan we make

Is to introduce each body part

On its own, wash, out again in a shake.

Cold-shower, hokey-cokey makes me shout,

‘In out, in out, that’s what it’s all about’.

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© 2018 James Morgan Nash - Writer and Poet - Leeds, West Yorkshire, United Kingdom - james@jamesnash.co.uk 

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