Grainy and warm and the feeling of home
But the sun got high and you turned hot
Burning my feet to unbearable lot
Then the wind came and you made me cry
Wind whipping my hair with you in my eye
At last it rained and I saw you for what you are
My idea of paradise, but ideas can only go so far
I had my period yesterday, so I took the less destructive route and wrote a poem while in the throes of pain. I'd rather not be allergic to painkillers, though.