British Summer Time.
It is time to re-arrange the coats and shoes
For it troubles us there are some we never use
Especially now, we’re on the cusp of sunny days,
Gone should be Wellingtons and brolly stand ways.
Soon, it will be time of evening birdsong chime
Of horizon jaunts and hushed marvels at the climb
We will sit outside with beer instead of rain,
Watching people flower in saunters up the lane.
It is time for naked sleep in moth-kissed breeze
Eventide pored with souls that race like bees
Towards wide-eyed ecstasy of resonant dawn,
And barefoot tip-toes over dewsoaked lawns.