That Time of the Year

It’s that time of the year when the rain comes down,
The time of the year for rain.
The sky unfurls like an ugly grey sweater
Joints ache and wheeze with the pain.

It’s that time of the year when my skin fits too tight
And my thoughts circle round the drain.
It’s the time of the year for cold and drear,
The time of the year for rain.

It’s that time of the year that’s hardest yet,
The time of the year that’s the worst:
When spring is so close and you feel it so much
You know that you’re going to burst.

It’s that time of the year when the rain comes down,
Or frost or sleet or snow.
Or maybe it’s nothing at all coming down,
Just that solemn drab stillness all around
And a promise of change coming in on the breeze,
With its hints of sunshine, that “not quite yet” tease.
Enough of it! Really!
Don’t mean to complain,
But I’m sick to death of the rain.