I had a dream I die
I ride a taxi into hell
I'm sweating but my driver is kind
He taps the meter when I arrive
Says, "pay up," gently
There is no tax

A flock rises from the magma
My eyes narrow from the heat
They glow as they sing
and cut me when their wings spread
Red hot and beautiful
Birds made of knives

It,s  a  lovely  crisp  early  spring  morning.
After  a  sharp  frost.
Clear  blue  sky  has  far
as  the  eye  can  see.
Very  quiet, no  wind  at  all.
The  snow  capped  mountains
stand  proudly  on  the  horizon.
A  few  holiday  makers  arriving.
For  a  brand  new  season.

Keith  Wilson.  Windermere.  UK  2017.

I want it to be summer,
And I want to be in love,

But I can't just skip to that part,
And it's starting to depress me.