Spread yourself upon the snow
And soak up calcium and tan;
The cold will baste you, nice and slow:
The sun will freeze you, that’s its plan.
Watch the geysers, steaming, gush
To cover you with Easter slush.
The forecast is your only friend:
The month ahead may well be chequered –
On hot ice you can all depend.
The Arctic sun will break the record.
Get ready for the winter genie
And wear the skimpiest bikini.
If salt is strewn across your street,
Dig out your bucket and your spade:
While you sun-bathe, brown and sweet,
The frost will sweat you. Be afraid.
While rivers rise and beds grow dry,
The hail will fill the shining sky.
Pull on your furs. The molten rocks
May give you cause to quake and quiver.
The weather is a paradox.
The ice floes fill the boiling river.
Half-naked, in sub-zero torture,
Enjoy the shiver. It’s a scorcher.
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