Spring Lament
Oh, how I hate this time of year, when Spring is mild and calm.
I hate the gentle breezes as the Sun begins to warm.
Long, long ago I loved these months, with blossom everywhere.
So what is different now? you ask. The answer's in the air.
Each brown field that turns to green makes my spirits rise, but then
Each field that then turns yellow makes them sink back down again.
Drifting from each yellow patch is a cloud of strong perfume
Rank and sweet, it drowns the garden, permeates each room.
And then the sinus headache starts, the stifling lack of air
Promotes a sense of nausea, the annual despair,
Endless weeks, or so it seems, till these flowers fade away.
! Farmers, have some mercy please, grow linseed, peas or hay.