An English Summer? - Poem by Anthony Stafford
oh what a perfectly horrible day
we can't walk the dogs and the children won't play
it just keeps on raining, dribblingly wet
from breakfast to tea-time, the weather seems set
the grass needed cutting and the beans should be picked
the roses look soggy and the dahlias have dipped
we planned to go out but what would you do
it’s no fun for anyone, wet at the zoo
lets play a game, like charades or scrabble
it will be such fun for Toby and Annabelle
and then perhaps we’ll have a nice tea
Gosh - wasn’t there a good film on the TV?
but oh so depressing when it rains all day long
and the weekend is wasted, it just feels all wrong
maybe tomorrow the day will be better
surely the weather can’t get any wetter
It’s England in summer – but where is the sun?
constant depressions are just not much fun,
and now Global warmings on everyone’s lips;
but does that explain the cold and the drips?
I seem to remember those years long ago
when July and August were always aglow
and days melted into each other for ever
as the grass curled so brown in such glorious weather
but now I sit watching the rain on my window;
the forecaster’s forecasts are always akimbo.
the grey scudding cloud passes drearily by
as I turn to my book with a weather-worn sigh
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