And yet, one day does differ
So much from another;
One week apart in time
But a season also now seems to separate the two
But, a reversal of the journey
From Spring to last Autumn
When sudden showers left me sodden
And now they do again;
No, these are not the falls of Spring
That approaching April promises; but the clammy,
Cold-swamp-inducing drops of a miserable day in November.
And, yes, I still hear the woodland birds tweeting
From their lofty shelters
As they look down upon me in my ‘inappropriate’ trainers.
The breeze is not what we hear today;
A gusting wind that trembles like a thunder;
And, the clouds ‘lower’ as in Shakespeare’s third Richard
Leaving me under no impression
That the Sun will get a look in today.
Roll on the Glorious Summer.