The Kindest Month

A poem in praise of February

Oh, to be in England

Now February’s there,

With Autumn’s mess swept out of sight

And all the branches bare.

No hedge to trim or lawns to mow,

No leaves to clear or weeds to hoe,

But time, with England at its best

To sit and rest.

Oh, to be in England

In February’s chill,

Freed from frenzied Christmas

And the need to feign goodwill!

With mad March winds still held at bay

April showers two months away,

It’s February’s languid cheer

That crowns the year.