When it’s spring: A poem 

I will be raking off winter’s grey leaves in September charm 

Cold crime novels and hot brandy no longer on my arm 

Emotions will be buzzing like a nectar-sucking bees’ swarm 

The birds will chirp to colours of buttercups and peonies, and morning calm 

People will gather around the parks’ barbecues and drink beer like water 

Daylight will last longer and longer, and the sun will get hotter 

It is not the season for the couch potato, but time, for gardens, to sow 

Butterflies with wonderful wings will dance to the breeze in the meadow 

Winter’s wistful scrawl in the notebook will be all but forgotten 

Knee-length pants and short-sleeved shirts will be put on the iron 

The woolens carefully packed, the beanie thankfully off my hair 

I will not yet then worry of December and summer’s harsh glare