(“Spring Weather Across America — A Shakespearean Tribute”)

When spring doth wake with trumpet from the skies,
And Zephyrs soft in April’s lap do play,
Yet o’er the West, the thunder’s wrath doth rise,
With rain-swoll’n clouds that blot the golden day.

Lo! California weeps in misty shrouds,
While mountains don their crowns of icy white;
The storm, in tempest tongue, proclaims aloud
Its kingdom o’er the valleys cast in night.

But hark! The South in warmth begins to sing,
Where Georgia’s bloom is kissed by morning’s light,
And Texas feels the stir of early spring,
Though chased by winds that gallop swift as fright.

The northern plains, still locked in frost’s embrace,
Do yearn for thaw with ever-patient face.

Whilst o’er the East, fair sun doth show his pride,
And paints the coast with gold and sapphire hue;
Yet fickle skies with rain and shine do bide—
As if the gods know not what next to do.

O changing clime! Thou art a jesting sprite,
That wears all seasons in a single night.