Summertime

stretched out in
a canvas chair.
eyelids pierced
by yellow air.
There is nothing
standing in my way.
there is noone here
to harm and pain.

crumpled up in
moisture gras.
listening in, between
rusten fence and summergreen.
lying dead
with a world on pause.
there is nothing here
to change my course

this is my summertime poem, I hate the winter in Wales.

I like it, it's simple but gets the point across. Great job :-)

thx mate.