I do a lot of hanging.
It seems to creep
through my veins.
Cold chill will eat my fibres
I get fed up when it rains.
Love it when the sun do's shine
The hanging can start again.
Oh dear there goes the danglers
It must be the April rain.
Summer,winter,Autumn, Spring
Stuck between poles of rust
Life as a washing line
why is  hanging so unjust?