Well I love those mad March gales, when they come spring-cleaning the world ...
The streets have a sheen and the grass seems greener,
The air so fresh and clear,
Down in the tidy cottage garden, the crocuses their colours unfurl
Sunlight glancing on daffodils dancing
Revelling the spring being here.
And above those daredevil days, days when blustery winds blow gustily
Cloud quadrilles besiege the hills
Bringing curtains of lace-like rain,
Far across to the South, where the sunlight gleams momentarily,
Shameful defeat, they sound the retreat
And the steel-blue skies win again.
And shaking, quivering trees will very soon be blossoming
Where thrushes now sing beginning their spring
At the height of the mad, glad gale;
Reckless are they, rodeo riding, balancing on branches tossing,
Notes in a jumble, cheerfully tumbling,
Braving the rain and the hail.
Out upon the windswept hillside, see the ewes and the skipping lambs,
Squalls come crashing, rain comes lashing,
Driving out winter with a blast ...
How nice to be back by the fireside, a mug of tea to warm the hands,
Rain comes slapping, on window-panes tapping
But spring is here at last!