How cruel is Mother Nature,

So happy to stop

The beating heart of the winter clock,

When instead she decides to

Abrade the ebullient whispers of summer,

(Importunity is distressing),

With such abruptness and dispassion does she

Slash the lacquered cheeks of

Yellow Jasper,

Who eagerly hurries to reach her bed!

 

Oh!

And how cruel too is the English breeze,

So heavy-handed with everyone he meets,

So ruthless with his daily approach,

To wipe the tender smile from

The peony’s lips,

With only a trail of milky flesh left behind,

Blushing beneath wearisome skies,

Never to laugh

Again.

 

I’ll dream of an Indian summer instead.