In my neck of the woods this false Vernal Season
Inchoate Spring is plainly a copy of Winter:
Frigid April is insanely more like December,
Frozen neighborhoods an extra snow to squeeze in.
Trade in the scarecrow for a frosty snow totem
Break out snow shovels and salt since I still own them.
“All in good time,” I tirelessly repeat,
Be gone freezing rain and nasty old sleet.