by Kate MacDonald

If spring has sprung, that is news to me
as into each day all four seasons are tossed
Morning, bright and breezy, afternoon dull
Evening wind and rain, then night-time frost.

Flora and fauna are confused, of course,
To bloom, or nest build, mate or not mate
Hour by hour, as the day passes, all changes
Blossoms burned, eggs cold, mates not matey.

I should perhaps mention I live in Scotland,
Well known for weather you cannot trust
We Scots are fair of skin and mightily freckled
So we do not tan to a golden brown, we rust.