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Poetry
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| Rime | |
| By Sir_Nigel | ||||||||||
| 20 February 2008 | ||||||||||
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I wanted to write a rhyme about freezing fog and Rime. Frost and snow may come and go - we see them all the time But Rime’s a long lost brother - like the third, uncared for Attenborough. It’s emerged from obscurity to bring crystaline purity to world full of greyness and grime. When you’re bundled in your coats like a poor man’s Captain Oates. And it’s 8 below and it’s time to go. Just stop and spare some time for the humble transient Rime.
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