SPRING'S FIRST DAY

Spring
didn't know what was wrong.

It turned off the country.
Then turned it on again.

Nothing
doing.

Spring called technical assistance.
Was told there had been

a very virulent
Tory virus.

Blue was now the new red.
Lies were the new truth.

Britain had got a bargin
basement Trump.

Like an Ikea idea
with parts that didn't

go A
into B.

And had a ***** or two
missing.

Oh God
call that a Cabinet!

Nothing pretty
about that Patel.

And a Gove
as toxic as ever.

Spring didn't know
what to do

about
the Tory thing.

What had Britain been
thinking?

Emotional
hari-kari.

Only hope it would run
its course.

Just a fearful chapter
in  a future history book.

"Never has so little
being done by so few!"

Spring made sunlight
and shadow shake hands.

Sprinkled bird song
amongst the hedges.

Did what it had to do.
Got on with the job.

Whatever
the political weather.

"Is there..." Spring pondered
"...more  poets than before?"

I put down my pen.
And cried.