Les bliancs Lapîns!

[ieune]

Assa, un mio dé la poésie pouor lé preunmyi dé mai.



Ah! Spring is here. The rabbits quit their dens,
The dormant grass begins once more to grow.
The trees release their airborne allergens.
It's time to tune the Toro and to mow,
To fertilize and lime and thatch and seed
As-groveling on dirty, servile knees—
You pluck the dreaded dandelion weed
And rub your itching eyes and start to sneeze.
Wherever grass encroaches, you must edge,
And don't forget to stir the compost heap
And trim the junipers' unruly hedge,
While forfeiting a needed hour of sleep.
Those poets penning praise to spring and tillage
Are domiciled in lofts in Greenwich Village.

~Bob McKenty, A Sonnet for Spring

A slightly wry look there, methinks, but true for hayfever sufferers. :)