Oh! To Be In April!

(in England, that is.)

 


You can always tell it's April
by the sound of falling rain.
That mystic, mournful music
as it trickles down the drain.


We're told we should be thankful
for the kiss of April showers;
as it washes all the grass clean
and prepares the soil for flowers.


There's another side to April
which bode us all no good,
when that mini, manic maelstrom
turns the lawn to liquid mud.


When mice hide under hedges
and hedgehogs take to ground.
The birds are wet and hungry,
the worms have all been drowned.


Within a week, or maybe two,
a million latent seeds
will germinate and procreate,
to fill the world with weeds.


Then while I'm fighting anarchy,
armed with my trusty hoe;
behind me, surreptitiously,
the grass begins to grow.


I ease my taut and breaking back
and nurse my aching bones.
I think I'll call the builders in
to lay some paving stones.


I'll build a concrete jungle
where I can sit for hours,
snug in a concrete garden shed;
secure from April Showers.




By Thomas Vaughan Jones (TVaughanJones@aol.com)




Watch these pages for more poems by Tom.
In the meantime, click the links below for other poems and stories by the authors at Lara's Den.


Legend Of The Lost

Uncle Henry

The Red Galoshes

Out The Big Window

Grandma's Recipe: Rock Soup

Games Of Love


And.......for many others, click the index image.



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