Summer hot,
curtains drawn.
Anything we do,
to block out the warmth.
White noise,
all around.
Filling rooms,
with their whirring sounds.
TV on,
blaring throughout the day.
Every hit and bowl filmed,
so the fans can follow the play.
Grains of sand,
white hot.
Glued to our skin,
hand to foot.
Ocean blue,
cool and clear.
Pulling me through,
tide creeping near.
Sea breeze smells,
with a side of fish and chips.
We breathe it all in,
after our ocean dip.
Old familiar,
here again.
With an embrace of warmth,
we feel at home through summer’s lens.
Hay's Corner 