(For readers accessing via their phones the following is written in poetry form...
...in truth, the above message is for my son as his reader doesn't show up line returns!)
Meteorological Spring I
Each March-time it comes as a shivery shock
To be told that it’s Spring once again.
The wind has a bite like an angered guard dog
And the forecast says snowfall, not rain.
But if Spring starts in March then I think it quite strange, the way
Summer time starts in mid June.
Because June also hosts England’s Midsummer’s day
Which means Autumn will come along soon.
Then the flowers will fade and the birds will take flight,
Clichéd mellow mists turn to hoar frost.
We’ll be plunged into Winter, the month of no light
With another year’s hopes and dreams lost.
(To those who have told me off for giving it a negative ending, it rhymes with frost and besides, there are always a few hopes and dreams not realised when the chimes ring out for the new year!)
|View from the kitchen window|
Meteorological Spring II
How can it be Spring?
The wind’s biting harder than a grisly guard dog.
My toes are tender red,
My fingers pinched white.
Who says blossom is ready to burst?
I see no bulging buds – only bare bone branches.
The meteorologists must have got it wrong.
It’s too soon for Spring.
This year’s Meteorological Spring was on 1st March.