Sick of bleedin snow........

It's hard to think of Spring, when we are waist deep in snow.

When in blue blazes is this stuff going to go.?

The Robins have come home, and wonder why they did.

Everything they like to eat is buried and is hid.

The bulbs are straining at the earth and can not make it shift.

That's because it's buried underneath a bloody six foot drift.

They say that it is Springtime according to the date.

But I am here to tell you that Spring is bloody late.

I am sick of dirty piles, of often soggy snow.

It's piled so high that it has nowhere else to go.

Oh to see a blade of lovely green grass,

I am sick to death of white and of slipping on my arse.

Excuse my poem for being rude it's due to cabin fever.

Old man Winter this year has been quite the dang deceiver.

The sun comes out and begins the melt

A promice of Spring that seems heartfelt.

Next time I look it's snowing and after that it's rain.

So next it's ice and freezing wind that freezes up the drain.

The roads are all flooded next time we get a thaw,

The snow comes back and settles half way up my door.

Will it end soon, I really do not know

but I am here to tell you I am sick of bleedin snow.

©Janice Schaub March 2014