More rain and those little, purple violets they predict
With the falling snow having been dismissed
Playing on the walk with her violin, a musician
A soft tune of purple and blue, not reds of bellows
Still freezing in the winter storms is the laggard
“It’s spring,” says the weather report

“Get out your umbrellas,” demands the made-up reporter
“Showers and flowers and new-born fauns is what I predict.”
Then she laughs at the frostbitten laggard
And leaves the studio to enjoy the day after being dismissed
Here is the pastel wind and gone is the icy bellow
She passes the song of rain and life as she waves at the musician

Now, wiping her dew-covered head is the musician
“It’s getting hotter,” says a voice from the screen with the report
That sweet spring is gone, replaced with summer’s smoldering bellow
“It will only get hotter,” the newswoman sadly predicts
Sunscreen is snatched, leaving the pea plants dismissed
And we moan as we see him happy in spring, that laggard

He’s dancing in the rain and his skin isn’t burnt, the laggard
The song from the violin is quicker now, fueling the musician
This heavy air and those sweaty shoes we wish desperately to dismiss
“I regret to inform that it will reach 99 degrees,” groans the reporter
“No more rain, only thick gusts of heat is what we predict.”
Then the camera man faints from heatstroke and the woman bellows

The heat has vanished, replaced by the leaves that bellow
In reds and yellows for only a second, and the laggard
Has collapsed in summer, and autumn’s been predicted
To only last a few minutes. There floats a minor melody from the musician
“Today is the first, and tomorrow is the last day of fall,” says the reporter
And within a moment, those beautiful colors have been dismissed

Replaced with white, whose job is to dismiss
Any sign of life or joy as death springs from its bellow
The newswoman’s lips are frozen shut so she can’t report
But she glares at the man who is jumping in leaves, the laggard
And the song has ceased, the violin ice, and there’s no sign of the musician
“Our world will freeze to the core,” the replacement newswoman predicts

But within weeks, the report has dismissed
That algid, frozen world the woman predicted with a cold bellow
The laggard has finally caught up, and is listening to the musician.