Spring - Poem by gershon hepner
Spring, the month allegedly the cruelest,
makes some anticipate the joys of summer,
but hardly ever will impress the coolest
for whom the summer season is a bummer.
In autumn expectations are much lower
for everyone’s prepared for winter’s icy blasts
which swallow Indian summers like a boa
while freezing hopeful spring enthusiasts.
Comments about Spring by gershon hepner
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.