Spring Already, Spring

I like my wool sweaters
Really I do
But by this time of year
You’d think I’d be through

Record cold temps
The weatherman tells me
So of my wool sweaters
I’m not yet set free

I have cotton blouses
And tee-shirts galore
Shucking the heavy stuff
That’s what spring’s for

Grey, beiges, and blacks
I’m so sick of these hues
I’m ready for paisley,
Pinks, and bright blues

Daffodils have blossomed
Robins have appeared
But I’m still wearing wool
Sorry, but that’s weird

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Spring in the South

Of spring flowers
I love the most
Are the ones
As white as ghosts

Daffodils pop up
So bright and cheering
Their yellows and golds
Tell me spring is nearing

And tulips vivid
In colors like red
I like seeing them
In long flowing beds

Azaleas bloom
In purples and pinks
But the white are the nicest
That’s what me thinks

And set underneath
Some dogwoods in bloom
Makes my heart go
Pitter-patter, ka-boom

Springtime white flowers
So downright ethereal
Thank you for giving me
This week’s poetry material

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Berry Wary

Roses are red
Black raspberries are, umm, black
This little ditty will prove
That I’m a poetic hack

I like black raspberries
They make me say the word “yum”
But right now they are causing me
A peculiar conundrum

Their bushes are close by
On the outskirts of my yard
So what’s the problem you may ask
That makes picking them so hard?

The berries are beautiful
They’re ripening quite nicely
But here’s the situation
That makes picking them rather dicey

The berries are entwined
Amongst a very dangerous vine
This plant has leaves three
And yes those leaves do shine

Protected by poison ivy
I’ll leave the berries be
Perhaps the birds will eat them
But those berries are safe from me

Roses are red
Black raspberries are, umm, black
And that’s the latest news
From the outskirts of my Vermont shack

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