at the end of april

little above but blue and the hot eye
a passing plane direction north-west
it's time to pause to sit and take rest
one needs relief from relentless sky
the tiny moths that in their terror fly
must see one as some truly horrid pest
disturbing calm with noize and zest
not here content to let old nature lie
hardly a breeze how easy to forget
the winter's woes and rain and cold
spring's passed by in a single witty blink
our rules are clear one's path is set
on rails that will not rust until they're old
meanwhile the watcher has to take a drink