Temperate Perfection

TEMPERATE PERFECTION

We wake up to a flaky frost dissolving in the dawn
Our breath does cartwheels in the sky then nestles in the lawn
And though it's a cliche
It is a perfect day
The days are eighteen hours long
The nights are mild and breezy
And we sip tea and play mah-jong and Scrabble and Parcheesi
We walk up to our favorite view to watch the sunset swing
Pink and blue publicity reveals a sleeveless spring
And then it's summer soon
We're at the beach by noon
The months are always temperate
There's just one week of snow
It rains on Wednesdays just enough to make the dahlias grow
The weeks are all hospitable
Each weekend a confection
The seasons chime within a clime of temperate perfection

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