When the climate becomes dry and cold,
when my hands and mind are slipping,
I do whatever's left to keep on gripping,
to stay on the line, even if it is on hold.

There's still chip shops, souls
and hip hops and soles to burn
on pavement or grass.
There will always be ball games,
small names and big days.
I see windows, I see doors,
I see mine and I see yours.

We're not doomed, well yet,
we're alive and as I've said,
there are sundays, there is sun,
still so much that can be done,
which feels nice when it is,
with my legs up and my head at ease.
Then I see, life can still be a softly soothing breeze.

I raise my glass and brows to certain teas,
we are blessed to have dogs barking, sweets
and care. I raise it all to some certainties,
laying down and tucked in in these blessed sheets.