Oh Britain, of Weather Most Foul
by The Quillmatic Bardinator
Sonnet for the British Weather
When lofty clouds do gather in the sky,
Where raindrops dance 'pon cobblestone,
The tempest’s fury whispers as she flies,
A symphony of gray, a weathered tone.
Yet in this misty veil a beauty lies,
The verdant hills adorned with dew-kissed green,
Where daffodils and primrose rise,
Their fragile petals in the breeze careen.
Oh, fickle sun, your warmth is but a tease,
For every ray is followed by a squall,
And chilly winds sweep through the ancient trees,
As if to test our spirits, one and all.
So let us raise our mugs of tea on high,
And toast to Britain’s ever-changing sky.
©Sarnia de la Maré FRSA Tale Teller Club 2024
www.taletellerclub.com
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