January's frost and snow
makes your central heating blow.
February? That's no better;
almost as cold, and a good deal wetter.
March is windy, so they say -
I'd add gloomy, grim and grey.
Then April's showers join together
to give a month of drenching weather.
In May you may see skies of blue
but flying pigs are possible too.
In 'flaming' June the days are longer,
But sky's as black, and rain falls stronger.
July brings thunder, lightning, storm.
Ah well, at least the rain is warm.
August - at last the sun comes out;
Turn the hose off, it's a drought.
September - stifling, hot and dry -
Makes you long for wet July.
October then brings early chill
- and pouring rain. Oh what a thrill!
November - dull, drab, dank, and dismal;
of all the months the most abysmal.
Oh no, that's wrong; now I remember
It's more abysmal in December.
Snow, hail or thunder, storm or flood
don't bother those of English blood.
Let any kind of weather come!
Stiff upper lip, chaps, don't be glum.
Rejoicing in our heritage
we'll stick it out through every age,
and shout abroad both near and far,
'Our weather makes us what we are'
- blooming miserable.
Love the flow and personality you have given this write of the seasons...... Very nice flow of adjectives....... Bonnie
Weather talk at its finest, Paul. I can't believe I missed this one! S :)
quite clever and a lot of fun! It makes me feel so much better for the horrendous heat we have 6-9 months of the year here. So glad you shared, Paul!
Having spent some time in England, I can well appreciate this poem. Delightful! !
Another beautiful poem! Being a lover of music, I loved the rhythm and beat you have maintained all along till the end! Your last two stanzas were simply great! I was keen to know what the people there had to say about the last line with its typical English humour! What Jennie says is perhaps true! But I suppose it is the sea all around which contributes to the unpredictable nature, of the typical English weather! 10 +++ -Raj Nandy
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
This one really made me chuckle. I remember being told once - 'England doesn't have a climate - it just has weather! ' But if we got better weather - what would we grumble about? Politicians of course - do you think there is a secret parliamentary weather control room?