The sun's my fire. <br />Golden, from a magnificence of blue, <br />Should be its hue. <br />But woolly clouds, <br />Like boarding-house old ladies, come and sit <br />In front of it. <br />White sunshine, then, <br />That has the frosty glimmer of white hair, <br />Freezes the air. <br />They must forget, <br />So self-absorbed are they, so very old, <br />That I'll be cold.<br /><br />Lesbia Harford<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/white-sunshine/
