In Sarasota's gentle clime, Lives a man known as Tim, In his camper, bides his time, Fabricating every whim. With words smooth as the sea, He convinces with soft voice, Taking coins from those naive, As if it were by choice. At fifty degrees, he shivers, As if the frost would take his soul, Whines and whirls, till around he delivers, Tales of warmth's elusive goal. He spins stories, oh, so grand, Of coffee, rich and rare, In truth, no cup of brew has spanned, The concoctions in his flair. For free he wishes, dreams unfurl, To have the world without the cost, In Sarasota winds that swirl, Tim finds, in lies, he's never lost.