At the End of February

This winter my condenser iced over
And I could not liberate it until
Winds from the south interceded
To whisk away rime, sleet, and snow.
The sod was all soggy, and the trees
Groaned from pellucid weights
That dangled like crystal ornaments
Left behind from Yuletide's array.
The sun rarely gave us a clue
While it spiraled behind hiemal haze
As to when it might cross vernal marches;
You can't trust a groundhog's projection.
At last we seem clear of the onslaught,
The trend is tremulously "up";
What worries me now is the summer--
The forecast: unbearably hot.

Reviews

[John the Baptist]

Yes, and will the aging A/C unit hold up? The extremes of weather bode ill. What will it take to get us to deal seriously with climate change?