Urge For Going . . . Joni Mitchell

It was a bleak, wet day.  I sat with a blanket over my knees and knitted and caught up on TV programmes.  The steam is from the mdf plant.
Last nights dinner was well received.  Once upon a time we lived in a forest village where the surrounding trees where home to a good population of wild pigs and pork was a regular meal until I got to hate it.  Last nights wild pork was alright without being stunning.  I think the stuffing needed more apple and herbs.  The meat is naturally firm and not fatty like domestic pork.  
 
. . . When the sun turns traitor cold
And all the trees are shivering in a naked row . . . 
. . . I'll ply the fire with kindling now
I'll pull the blankets up to my chin
I'll lock the vagrant winter out
And I'll bolt my wandering in
I'd like to call back summertime
And have her stay for just another month or so . . . 

I think Joni Mitchell is a poet.