The Cricket’s song, in warmth increasing ever,
And seems to one in drowsiness half lost,
The grasshopper’s upon some grassy hills. Keats
Should I lie on my soft-swaddled couch
on the north end of the house,
or on my sunny south kitchen bench?
Not some light-denying grouch
in a gray terry cloth bathrobe,
just lying on their soft-swaddled couch.
True, it’s brighter out there, but much
comfier here—I’m cozy as a mouse;
but does the sunny south kitchen bench
beckon anyhow, though it’d take a winch
to lift me from this spot,
swaddled like a baby on my couch.
OK, I’ve got a fresh
perspective now, gazing through the south
window from my sunny kitchen bench.
It’s not quite as cheerful as I expected,
but the sky is blue, and a soft light glows
from a sun that reminds me of my swaddled couch,
as I sit on this hard kitchen-bench.
