Temperatures in march,
Common to our average, in May,
Most plants started blooming,
Showing, their summer ways.
Now the second week in April,
Freezing wind chills, entered our day's,
Much of that new vegetation,
Beginning to die away.
Even the leaves on trees,
Some of the tallest, on the land,
A warning not to mess with,
Mother Natures hand.
Three quarters of A century, has passed,
Since A record low, for this month in time,
A rare act of nature,
Or A view, of future signs.
© Tom Maxwell 04/07/2007
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem