Ode to My Furnace
Heat, blessed heat, how I do love thee.
Taken for granted, when you are here,
Never missed more than when you are not.
Heat, blessed heat, how I do love thee.
(Remind me I said so in July and August when I'm bitching about the heat...)
2 Comments:
I'm getting jealous. When was the last time you wrote me a poem. It's been a while.
Well, when was the last time you crapped out during sub-freezing temps?
If you would like some bad poetry, I'll see what I can do for you.
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