Recently, we’ve been hit by an icy blast from Siberia, dubbed the Beast from the East. This is my humorous take on it.
We’ve been blasted by the Beast,
Blown straight over from the East;
Fed by northern polar vortex,
It would slice right through your cortex,
Landing an almighty blow
With its gales and frost and snow,
Blizzards, whiteouts, drifts and ice;
And there was, indeed, a price
If you tried to brave this storm:
You could not stay dry or warm.
So to end up safe and sound,
You wrapped up and went to ground,
Keeping all essentials handy,
Namely whiskey, rum and brandy;
Soon, your innards were ablaze,
With you swaying in a haze,
Feeling comfy, snug and cosy,
Both your cheeks and nose quite rosy;
This is how (you get my drift?)
Best to deal with Putin’s ‘gift’.