It's a cold, damp day
Not fit for going anywhere,
And so I lounge,
Snuggled in a soft throw,
With a cat in my lap
And two dogs at my feet
Dreaming into the fire
While love songs play
On the XM radio.
I dream
Of swashbuckling days of old
With myself in the role
Of a female privateer,
Or maybe I'm a union spy
In the guise of a southern lady;
Then I dream
Of the glamorous 20's
And I am a rebellious flapper,
Or I am a pilot 
In the second world war,
One of the unsung heroines
Of which little is said.
I smile sleepily to myself
And contemplate writing a book.
Maybe I will,
Tomorrow.