by TheRaven on Sun Jul 16, 2017 5:16 pm
Hilarity ensues, when an Australian speaks of Summer in the middle of the year,
For without recourse, they suffer a winter of wetness and misery, eyes easy to tear.
The world stands in the sun, ease days and with light hearts,
While the huddled masses of Oz, huddle in pubs and distract themselves with beers and darts.
Such glories as the open fields, and roaming mountains, are beyond them.
But for all the inaccessibility, of fog, and floods and storms, the yearning does not stem.
We dream of Summer, in our cold and wet skins,
As you speak of bright days, we wonder when they begin.