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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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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It is May, and so that means
I’m figuring out my Vermont schemes
The lake is thawed, our shack is calling
So I tell Hubby, let’s not be stalling
We’ll pack up the car with all our loot
Hubby will plan our two-day route
We can’t go ‘till the coast is clear
By that I mean no frost-warning fear
Like tonight, it will be twenty-seven degrees
The shack has no heat, and I don’t like to freeze
The pipes will freeze, too, if too soon we arrive
And so we postpone that very long drive
Memorial Day should be a good time
Spring comes late to Vermont, but is always sublime
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A poem about weather
Oh, what a bore
But all those cold temps
I did most abhor
When winter lingered
And lingered some more
But now it does feel
Like spring has begun
So venturing outside
Can actually be fun
When it comes to spring fever
I am second to none
And with spring having sprung
You know what that says?
Summer cannot be
Very too far aways
And that is the season
That gets my most praise!
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