Dedicating a rhyme, for a dear friend of mine

This rhyme is written for Mariam, my dear friend,
To who I am grateful, to no end.

Before she took matters in her hand,
Rhyming was something I could never stand.

The only rhyme I could ever write,
No matter how much I would fight,

Were the following two lines,
From the scores of literary mines:

"A merry month is December,
Though we don't have much cucumber."

I'm sure you understand my plight,
When at the mention of rhyme, my brain would be halfway in flight.

The credit of this fire, my friend, goes to you,
My rhyme is colourful and no longer blue.

Summer lovin'

What to do on waking with a bad mood?
Break your fast and have some sinful comfort food.

But are those early morning calories going to do you any good?
Perhaps just slide back into bed and lower the hood.

You fear if it's going to last all day,
Especially in the tiresome heat of May.

Whether outdoors or indoors, you profusely sweat,
The trick, I realise, is not to fret.

Eat, sleep, drink and be merry,
And when the heat goes down, let's go on the ferry.