english sun

just when i was gone,
had it, done with you,
cursing your coldness,
your greyness,
and your predictable inability
to do anything other
than under-perform
unpredictably;
you shine on me
that beatific smile,
that
‘what? did you miss this?’
smile,
and then out comes
the old, fabled, english sun
out of retirement,
out of senility,
and almost for the first time
(almost)
in living memory,
shining as if it means it,
and on st georges day,
just to remind us,
how beautiful,
how achingly
beautiful you are
when you smile,
and how I could never,
ever,
leave you,

(well not until i win the lottery)

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