Whither Confusion
When tempermental April with cheeks puff'd and dewy eyes
Doth give way to summer's warm embrace,
And yon cold, tempestuous March itself before the May abase.
When Spring...
What? No. Well yes, I'm certain. It's 70 degrees outside. It's wet and gray and warm. I know what I see and that's Spring out there.
Calendar? Ha ha, very funny, stop fiddling with the pages. It can't be November. Why? Didn't I just say, 70 bloody degrees outside. Well, yes, now that you mention it Halloween seems like almost last week. And Christmas does seem like it was too far away to be only a few months ago. November you say? But... outside. A fluke? But... oh, well. I suppose it is New England after all.
Doth give way to summer's warm embrace,
And yon cold, tempestuous March itself before the May abase.
When Spring...
What? No. Well yes, I'm certain. It's 70 degrees outside. It's wet and gray and warm. I know what I see and that's Spring out there.
Calendar? Ha ha, very funny, stop fiddling with the pages. It can't be November. Why? Didn't I just say, 70 bloody degrees outside. Well, yes, now that you mention it Halloween seems like almost last week. And Christmas does seem like it was too far away to be only a few months ago. November you say? But... outside. A fluke? But... oh, well. I suppose it is New England after all.