The "Freeola Customer Forum" forum, which includes Retro Game Reviews, has been archived and is now read-only. You cannot post here or create a new thread or review on this forum.
Summer Days
As the Sun beats down on the buttered lawn,
The oaks stand strong, towering and fawn.
And as the humming birds sing their notes,
The warm summer’s air wafts and floats.
The daffodils smile with pride and with glee,
And the leaves are ripe upon the Maple tree.
The sky is swirled and tinged of blue,
And the blazing of the daises, so fresh and so new.
An innocent cloud drifts gently by,
And we sit so happily under an aquatic sky.
The juice of a blackberry, sticky yet sweet,
And the scent of the flowers is one we all greet.
The air is moist and the temperature soars,
I hear so much laughter; No one’s indoors.
A gentle summer’s breeze sways the fields,
And I see a garden gnome, worn and kneeled.
The fish glide gracefully through the crystallised pond,
And the colours of a butterfly, of which I am fond.
The soothing smell upon the lawn of cut grass,
Whilst a pollen-cut bumble bee gently flies past.
A chilling ice lolly trickles down my shirt,
And the glorious taste of ice cream; so good it will hurt.
Whilst under the sun-drenched canopy we rest,
No shoes or trousers, just some trunks and a vest.
A thirst-quenching sip of artic like Coke,
As I jump into the pool, for a warm water soak.
The patio so scorched like a warm winter’s fire,
While a breeze rustles the leaves, the cold so dire.
My skin feels so burned, tanned like soft leather,
And the birds fly so smoothly, one dropping a feather.
The sun like an amulet, glued to the heaven,
It warms the cold land from Dundee to Devon.
The steam puffs gently from the grill, so hot,
Heating the chicken leg, the beef and the lot.
And whilst we indulge in a treat so fine,
The swallow gives a whistle from the shadow of the pine.
The time of summer, so warm, so soothing,
People so relaxed; they’re sleepy and cruising.
Those few little months, starting from May,
Why can’t it be Summer, every single day?
As the Sun beats down on the buttered lawn,
The oaks stand strong, towering and fawn.
And as the humming birds sing their notes,
The warm summer’s air wafts and floats.
The daffodils smile with pride and with glee,
And the leaves are ripe upon the Maple tree.
The sky is swirled and tinged of blue,
And the blazing of the daises, so fresh and so new.
An innocent cloud drifts gently by,
And we sit so happily under an aquatic sky.
The juice of a blackberry, sticky yet sweet,
And the scent of the flowers is one we all greet.
The air is moist and the temperature soars,
I hear so much laughter; No one’s indoors.
A gentle summer’s breeze sways the fields,
And I see a garden gnome, worn and kneeled.
The fish glide gracefully through the crystallised pond,
And the colours of a butterfly, of which I am fond.
The soothing smell upon the lawn of cut grass,
Whilst a pollen-cut bumble bee gently flies past.
A chilling ice lolly trickles down my shirt,
And the glorious taste of ice cream; so good it will hurt.
Whilst under the sun-drenched canopy we rest,
No shoes or trousers, just some trunks and a vest.
A thirst-quenching sip of artic like Coke,
As I jump into the pool, for a warm water soak.
The patio so scorched like a warm winter’s fire,
While a breeze rustles the leaves, the cold so dire.
My skin feels so burned, tanned like soft leather,
And the birds fly so smoothly, one dropping a feather.
The sun like an amulet, glued to the heaven,
It warms the cold land from Dundee to Devon.
The steam puffs gently from the grill, so hot,
Heating the chicken leg, the beef and the lot.
And whilst we indulge in a treat so fine,
The swallow gives a whistle from the shadow of the pine.
The time of summer, so warm, so soothing,
People so relaxed; they’re sleepy and cruising.
Those few little months, starting from May,
Why can’t it be Summer, every single day?
Overall, good.
But a few rhymes were too false.
But a few rhymes were too false.
Oh, very kinky.
Nah, I love Summer. Even though my birthday is in November when i'll be 15 (Horah!)
Nah, I love Summer. Even though my birthday is in November when i'll be 15 (Horah!)
I dunno, Autumn always reminds me of my birthday.
And I get an arousing thought of myself rolling around in a big pile of orange leaves with a beautiful girl.
And I get an arousing thought of myself rolling around in a big pile of orange leaves with a beautiful girl.
I know.
'Tis very sad.
'Tis very sad.
Summer's long gone, Crumble. We've seen the last of the good weather, me thinks.
I don't usually butter my lawn.
Summer Days
As the Sun beats down on the buttered lawn,
The oaks stand strong, towering and fawn.
And as the humming birds sing their notes,
The warm summer’s air wafts and floats.
The daffodils smile with pride and with glee,
And the leaves are ripe upon the Maple tree.
The sky is swirled and tinged of blue,
And the blazing of the daises, so fresh and so new.
An innocent cloud drifts gently by,
And we sit so happily under an aquatic sky.
The juice of a blackberry, sticky yet sweet,
And the scent of the flowers is one we all greet.
The air is moist and the temperature soars,
I hear so much laughter; No one’s indoors.
A gentle summer’s breeze sways the fields,
And I see a garden gnome, worn and kneeled.
The fish glide gracefully through the crystallised pond,
And the colours of a butterfly, of which I am fond.
The soothing smell upon the lawn of cut grass,
Whilst a pollen-cut bumble bee gently flies past.
A chilling ice lolly trickles down my shirt,
And the glorious taste of ice cream; so good it will hurt.
Whilst under the sun-drenched canopy we rest,
No shoes or trousers, just some trunks and a vest.
A thirst-quenching sip of artic like Coke,
As I jump into the pool, for a warm water soak.
The patio so scorched like a warm winter’s fire,
While a breeze rustles the leaves, the cold so dire.
My skin feels so burned, tanned like soft leather,
And the birds fly so smoothly, one dropping a feather.
The sun like an amulet, glued to the heaven,
It warms the cold land from Dundee to Devon.
The steam puffs gently from the grill, so hot,
Heating the chicken leg, the beef and the lot.
And whilst we indulge in a treat so fine,
The swallow gives a whistle from the shadow of the pine.
The time of summer, so warm, so soothing,
People so relaxed; they’re sleepy and cruising.
Those few little months, starting from May,
Why can’t it be Summer, every single day?
As the Sun beats down on the buttered lawn,
The oaks stand strong, towering and fawn.
And as the humming birds sing their notes,
The warm summer’s air wafts and floats.
The daffodils smile with pride and with glee,
And the leaves are ripe upon the Maple tree.
The sky is swirled and tinged of blue,
And the blazing of the daises, so fresh and so new.
An innocent cloud drifts gently by,
And we sit so happily under an aquatic sky.
The juice of a blackberry, sticky yet sweet,
And the scent of the flowers is one we all greet.
The air is moist and the temperature soars,
I hear so much laughter; No one’s indoors.
A gentle summer’s breeze sways the fields,
And I see a garden gnome, worn and kneeled.
The fish glide gracefully through the crystallised pond,
And the colours of a butterfly, of which I am fond.
The soothing smell upon the lawn of cut grass,
Whilst a pollen-cut bumble bee gently flies past.
A chilling ice lolly trickles down my shirt,
And the glorious taste of ice cream; so good it will hurt.
Whilst under the sun-drenched canopy we rest,
No shoes or trousers, just some trunks and a vest.
A thirst-quenching sip of artic like Coke,
As I jump into the pool, for a warm water soak.
The patio so scorched like a warm winter’s fire,
While a breeze rustles the leaves, the cold so dire.
My skin feels so burned, tanned like soft leather,
And the birds fly so smoothly, one dropping a feather.
The sun like an amulet, glued to the heaven,
It warms the cold land from Dundee to Devon.
The steam puffs gently from the grill, so hot,
Heating the chicken leg, the beef and the lot.
And whilst we indulge in a treat so fine,
The swallow gives a whistle from the shadow of the pine.
The time of summer, so warm, so soothing,
People so relaxed; they’re sleepy and cruising.
Those few little months, starting from May,
Why can’t it be Summer, every single day?