What we like to do is sit in the shade
On a warm summer evening,
Listening as birds make their last serenade
And the sun slips down the horizon,
While the colours flame and flush and fade
Through purple, apricot, crimson.
What we actually do is huddle indoors
As relentless rain’s cascading,
Bedraggling the birds, battering flowers,
While a gale force wind’s prevailing.
The temperature drops, the savage squall roars,
We shiver in premature gloaming.
English summer is often delightful,
But don’t rely on the weather,
Lovely days can become really frightful,
‘Be prepared’ is the slogan for ever;
Some summers it seems June is spiteful –
Other times she is kindly, however.
'The rule is, jam tomorrow and jam yesterday - but never jam today' - except here