I love the English springtime:
the lambs that gambol
in the sprouting grass,
and budding flowers
that spread their scent.
But oh . . . !

I hate the sneezes
and the running nose
and streaming eyes
of allergies
in English springtime.

I love our English summer
that warms but rarely
overheats my thirsting
body.  And I love
its cooling breezes.  
But oh . . . !

I hate those wasps
that buzz around
my honey-covered toast
at breakfast-time outdoors
in English summers.

I love the English autumn.
The russets and the golds
that tease my eye;
the orchards and their
apple scent.
But oh . . . !

I hate that mud
that ***** my walking boots
from off my feet
on country rambles
in English autumns.

And then the English winter
that never can decide
which of the seasons
it most likes to emulate.
But oh . . . !
Thank god there are no wasps!