Old man winter is getting soft. I gave up my daily walk months ago but have gone twice this week. Today I even shucked my sweater before I got back. It is up to 64 and I'm loving it. The spring bulbs are pushing shoots through the ground and some flocks of geese are trying to beat the rush by heading north early. Call me a pessimist, but I am not foolish enough to think spring is here. I have lived through too many winters to be deceived by a couple warm days.
Here is a poem I clipped years ago entitled False Alarm. I may have posted this before; I don't remember. It bears repeating because it happens every year.
Now snowsuit knees begin to fray
And mitten pairs to half astray
And tots exhibit feet of clay;
Now idle sleds commence to rust
And roller skates become a must,
Returning robins readjust;
Now sunshine graces each demeanor
And muddy lawns grow daily greener,
We send our woolens to the cleaner;
In readiness the earth awaits
Spring's bonus days at bargain rates;
Poised are the poet laureates
Their vernal verses to compose
Reviewing novel rhymes for rose
In candence clear; yet grandiose;
And then it snows.