It's here!

The annual spring poem

High up, over the tops
Of the feathery grasses, the grasshoppers hop.
They won't eat their suppers,
They will not obey
Their grasshopper mothers and fathers who say:
"Listen my children, this must be stopped.
Now is the time your last hop should be hopped.
So come eat your suppers and go to your beds."
But the little grasshoppers just shake their green heads.
"No, no," the naughty ones say.

"All we have time to do now is to play.

If we are hungry we'll nip at a fly,
Or nibble a blueberry as we go by.
But not now. Now we must hop.
And no one, but no one can make us stop."

 

Of course, we're supposed to get snow today.  Sigh.

Here's my sister's annual spring poem, starting with the original version:

Spring has sprung.
The grass has riz.
I wonder where the birdies is.
Some say the bird is on the wing.
But that’s absurd.
The wing is on the bird.

 And my 2015 version: 

Spring has sprung.
The grass has not riz,
I have no idea where the birdies is.
Some say the warmth is on the way.
But that’s absurd, the snow will have its day.