Goldfinch60

British Springtime.

Onto the lawn I stride,

A beautiful sunny day.

I hit a ball straight,

Straight towards the hoop,

But it disappears

As the snow falls down.

I walk to find the ball,

The sun reappears,

The ball is seen.

I hit it again

But again it is lost

As the snow comes down again.

So there we are playing croquet

In the sun and snow

With the east wind freezing us,

But then we accept this as the norm,

This typical British Springtime.