It´s now the end of winter´s cruel nip, as
icicles begin to slowly drip,
Down the fascias of frowning eaves, off
branches yet bare of leaves,
The last of onion´s pungent stew, soon,
salad leaves kissed with dew,
The cauldron stirred with steam arising,
ladle uneasy in its surmising,
Due, bounties of springtime fruits &
exchange our boots for lighter suits,
Now under foot there´ll be no frost, merely
stones with moss embossed,
End of chilblains & sore red bunions,
we´ll sup on chives instead of onions,
No more scarves, gloves & socks, just
silly-strapped sandals & floral frocks,
Days are numbered for drippy noses, we´ll
now be sniffing fragrant posies,
We shall open windows & fusty doors
& let the sunbeams grace our floors,
As spring her magic paint brush weaves,
trees begin to flaunt green sleeves,
Tiny buds now stretch from beds, soon to
breathe, nodding winsome heads,
It´s the time for salads, jaunts &
bicycles, no more onion stews & icy icicles,
Farewell dear winter & hail to thee, it´s
now time for us to run warm & free.
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