DRY LAND AHEAD.

I see it’s warming up nicely outside,
And there’s a further week of early spring sunshine due,
But however melodious
The tone
Of the weatherman appears to be,
And appeals to my pale ears,
It no doubt
Adds fuel to the fears
Of a deeper
Drought
In the south,
And the rout
This would reap,
As what fallen water has seeped
From the ground
Quicker than the sound
Of the forecaster’s
Last
Vowel,
Which,
Trowel like,
Has dug such a ditch
In the wishes
Of the farmers and twitchers,
As to drain
The last rations of rain
They’d collected
For a sunny day,
Which just goes to show
That you shouldn’t second guess
The weather
In England,
Which pours
More
Scorn
Than rain.