Last Snow

It's April twenty-fifth and it's still snowing, Lightly raining down upon the town. Pretty as a picture, wind is blowing, Melting quickly as it hits the ground. The streets awash in slush it wets my shoes, So rubber boots are needed to transgress, The puddles 'long the street where once there grew, Small flowers 'fore the winter put to rest. It's the last snow of the year and cold and wet. Jack Frost has packed his bags and finally left, But there's a chill still left behind lest we forget, That he'll be back again a lingering guest. For now we're looking forward to the summer, Days of picnics, barbecues and summer sun. We'll forget when minus ten seemed a bit warmer, As we frolic in the sunshine having fun.