Not as badly as turkey devoured, after baking slowly for long hours, above the flames where it was fed, but glowing bright, and definitely red from four days in the bright sun's light, my foreign flesh absorbed my plight, reflected off my arms and head, as I returned to my homestead.
A scarlet letter sent airmail, by flying over hills and dales, now crimson in a world of pales, back in a land of winter gales.
Not cranberry, but close I've come, from Paba-less play in the sun, I stick out like a huge sore thumb, refreshed and aloe Vera gummed.
Soon snow will turn my flesh again, to how it was before, and then, I'll slowly bake before some fires, to watch the hot flames burn wood pyres, that simulate the southern climes, then I'll reflect on warmer times.
A burnt offering to heavenly fun my fate for worshipping the sun, but oh, so glad for what I've done.
We all should flee from what we face, whether desert heat, or snowflakes lace, and spend some moments far away, from all we know, to share some days, enjoying what our world can give, and seeing how other folks live.