The weather is here,
warm and clampy it clings on,
like an evil weed.
The sky is falling,
one little cloud at a time,
but we don’t notice.
The travel’s starting,
socially distance ofcourse,
until that one comes.
I have lost the ‘the’,
from the start of each poem,
that feels much better.
Too many tadpoles,
mean too many frogs I guess,
and we can’t have that.
