SPRING HAD SPRUNG but then retreated
Our little Simon now feels cheated
Into his bed he has repaired
He stuck his nose out once, and dared
To test the air and sniff the breezes
Then, “Holy Hell, Good Lord, Sweet Jeezuz!”
Or something like those words he uttered
Turning inside-out at the door he muttered
All the way back to his resting place
Where now he hides his frost-bit face
Disgusted, bummed and disappointed
His plans for the day upset, disjointed
With summer still so far away
When flowers bloom and cats do play
A sadder fate was never known
Than a kitty cat whose dreams have blown
Away on a cold, uncaring wind
Now mourning all that might have been.