Same Old Things

Touch of snow,
so pure and white,
a small child's playground
an adults delight

Bare trees covered
in pale, sugary dust
"Can we climb it? Can we climb it?"
Roll of eyes. "If you must."

Packs of animals
silent in hibernation
urge to touch them
pout of fustration

Winter is over
snow turns to mush
leaves begin to sprout
last little push

Now it's Spring
a symphony of sound
newborns scamper
Berries are found

It getting hotter
the heat returns
the weather Brits
have always yearned

As soon as it comes
heat goes again
the month number
has changed to ten

Leaves disappear
or at least turn brown
earlier now
the sun goes down

Now we're back
where we started
But if you get
too downhearted

Just remember

Soon will come
Summer and Spring
when we can get back
to the same old things.