A silly sonnet for Silke, #1142 in my series of Transcendental Sonnets, some of which are silly, some of which are sad... like life itself: transeamus!

Transcendental Sonnet #1142:
Wrapped Fit for Stalingrad

a silly sonnet for Silke

Although it keeps getting colder
I am trying to be a good sport
Keep a stiff upper-lip and be stolid

But it's getting harder I'm getting older

And the rest of me is freezing stiff in short
Never mind upper-lip from nose-tip to the tip
Of each not-so-big refrigerated toe

I freeze me bloody arse off here's all I know

I've got to get that furnace fixed and straightaway
Wrapped fit for Stalingrad and still chilblaining
I feel repetitive always complaining

But waking in the night and sleeping in the day
I miss the sun till it's done and at rest in the west
Drinking hot tea constantly writing hoping for the best



+Steven Curtis Lance

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