Poem

When will the summer come our way
then stay till late September.
Winter clothes in attic's
and summer dress's down.

When will our boots be out
with heels and flip flops in.
Walks in woods and parks
and everything in between.

Ice-cream on our lips and nose
inches worth the taste
until dress no longer fits
or beer gut wobbles low.

Trainers; what are they?
and where's that gym pass
I felt so proud to show
until the snowflakes fell.

These seasons still confuse
and seedlings stop inside.
Mr Whippy doesn't linger.
Now; where's the salt and vinegar.