Margaret is driving the pot of Poetry Jam this week and her pot is to compose a poem on the subject of 'chilling' on a nice summer's evening.
I crossed the gushing stream at Oakfield Bridge,
the tiny flies around me madly milling.
Beneath the sweating sun, I climbed the ridge,
feeling like a sandwich slowly grilling.
The swirling mass about my head was filling
me with hatred for each pesky midge.
So now, I’m simply sitting here and chilling
but was I right to climb into this fridge?