Ode to F'ing Spring

Spring
throws off her winter clothes
and steps
naked
limbs showered with cool rain,
as the sun breaks itself
into rainbows upon her
skin
the opening of buds
like the parting of a curtain,
the trill of insects and birdsong
as the orchestra strikes up
the scent of that perfume
as the sap of the green green grass grows strong,
and the hot pollen of a million different fronds
lays that sweet hay-fever on
ya,
yeah,
Spring,
she can come on pretty heavy.
Spring - that slut!
that hussy
the most wanton of the seasons
Summer may be brazener,
Winter may be kind of kinky under all those layers...
Autumn may engross you fully with her intellectual airs
but Spring - man, Spring -

Spring just wants it. You can tell
Spring has got it bad

and I
have got it pretty bad myself