Wishful Think­ing on a Cold Au­tumn Morn­ing

Hills to Hawkesbury Living Magazine - - Community News - Mary L Smith

There's a touch of Win­ter in the air, a cold nip in the breeze, I feel it 'round by an­kles, need a rug around my knees; and a scarf to warm my neck, some socks for my cold toes; woolly gloves and jumpers to cover ev­ery bit that shows. I've hopped back in my nice warm bed no de­sire to start the day;

I'd like hot rolled oats for break­fast, not cold, wet, Spe­cial K.

That bath­room floor was cold as ice BE­NEATH FLOOR HEAT­ING would be nice, per­haps a bell, that I could ring; for a maid to han­dle ev­ery­thing.

Or a man, a nice one I could call my own but, one who's oats is long-since sown; not one whose eye would glint with glee, as he won­dered "what's in this for me".

Just an OR­DI­NARY MAN, a sim­ple soul, pleas­ing me his only goal.

There'd be sweet brown sugar melt­ing on that bowl of creamy oats, a red rose, in a vase, the poor man, how he dotes. He'd warm my fluffy slip­pers, place my gown within my reach He'd spoil me with a tasty treat, a lovely juicy peach. And then, he'd GO, and I'd re­lax while he checked emails and did the tax, fed the cat or walked the dog fixed the fire with an­other log . . . any­thing . . . Oh!! what joy, if only hecould do all th­ese things QUI­ETLY. What a lovely Win­ter I could plan, if I could find such a man.

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