Late March, in its dayshine,
Brings warning of Maytime
To winds still strong-blowing
Hard sleeting, fierce snowing.

“Oh no,” they are saying,
“Small time left for playing;
Soon melting and sighing,
Then sinking and dying!”

But April, sweet-winging,
Is waiting with singing,
With paid-before story
Of Maytime in glory!

This entry was posted in Poetry. Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s