Listen to me read this poem

There seemed always to be a surplus of springs
But now in September I stand at our door
Valuing the marginal sun's balm for my bones
The washing I forgot last night damp with dew
Your garden's fragrance filling my chest
The cats charming me but no e-mail from you...
And in the distractions of the footy finals and
The Commonwealth Games the election bores on
The Government trying a re-run of the old tax rort -
Rich Lions telling poor Lambs that they are "free"
As useful scapegoats arrive by sea
Business as usual the cards stacked but wobbling...
Yet the sun's coming South and soon so will you.