The weather is unseasonably cold,
So that the flowers brave enough to grow
Receive a punishment for being bold
And others, timider and so more slow,
Do not yet dare, although the month is May
And April's cruelty is long since past,
To peep above the ground, and by this they
Are saved. The cold seems settled in to last,
And those of us who dared, as flowers do,
To show our unprotected selves have found
In that a choice unfortunate to rue
And wish like them we could hide underground.
It was just like this when we met and walked
Yet I felt only heat when we two talked.
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