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.
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Author:
Goldfinch60 (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: April 7th, 2021 01:17
- Comment from author about the poem: It was a bit cold yesterday when I was playing croquet.
- Category: Reflection
- Views: 39
Offline)
Comments4
It's them (lesser-known snow?) April showers!
Good write Gold.
Thanks Orchi
It is an addiction beyond all reason or comprehension - are you sure you don't want to seek counselling, Andy? 🙂
I might have to Dave as I look upon croquet as my drug of choice.😂😂😂
Ta 4 the smile - it stopped me from dividng the eupatoriums and killed the blossom on the magnolias - not a good day.
My pleasure Michael.
Shame about the magnolias.
Andy
so well articulated, but I don't know if that's just Spring, even our British Summer's get a little temperamental, especially when we walk down a busy high-street and find people drenched wet at one end and sweating buckets the other, lol
though personally I wouldn't have it any other way!
I found this a somewhat nostalgic read Andy (not quite sure why)
Thank you Mek, British weather can have all types in one day no matter which season it is supposed to be.
Andy
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