In winter deep we count the hours
Until first spring yields forth her flowers
So the traditional refrain goes
But it’s wrong, as everyone knows
Flowers now start to peek and bloom
Long before it’s May or June
It seems the rhymes should be revised
As February showers March blooms arise
Further south, as the seasons fall
Some places never have winter at all
Not just tropics, now, but temperates too
One wonders what the poets will do
In years soon hence, when blazing sun
Makes December loathed by everyone
Honestly though, when we’ve got to there
We won’t have poets anywhere

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