The Climes they are a Changing
One summery, autumnal-like day,
Winter, briefly turned into spring,
And from six thousand miles away,
As tulips prematurely flowered,
Daffodils, promptly disappeared,
Chiffchaffs, mating calls sang loud,
Bluebells in the woods appeared,
And I, observing with regret,
Mouthed woefully a quiet: “Not yet”.
The blossom on my apple tree
This year, was rarely visited by
A bumble or a honey bee;
And for what weather reason why:
From summer’s mid to Halloween,
I saw one wasp, or maybe two,
In all the four months in between;
Crane-flies (their prey), are very few,
Whilst spiders, big beyond recall,
Make hands and even plates seem small.
Is this then written for reasons
Pertaining to global warming?
Am I suggesting the seasons
Are giving human-kind a warning?
No: I was merely following
The path of the first lines that came
To mind; and here I am; waffling
About stuff; the which I’ve no claim
To any knowledge, worth mention,
When my original intention
Was a flowery piece, inclining
Toward clouds of silver lining,
In these undeniably strange
Times of turmoil and climate change.
