Hoary robins, snow-line troopers, on-time travelers,
Stymied on my whitened lawn;
Essential plans, changed and gone.
I feel at fault; I put my skis away;
Guilt and heartfelt sadness ply my mind today.
The fickle moods of April: one day green the next
At its frenzied height.
One bored skier to blame:
Pre-emptive order to the season game.
Consoled only by filled bird feeders
And next week’s rain.