Spring and autumn seem to incite copious effusions of verse, either merry or melancholy. Summer? Not so much, perhaps, particularly when climate change can turn it into a burning fiery furnace or a damp squib, or both. Your offerings, please, by May 25th in up to 16 lines on the perils or pains or pleasures of the season in your own voice or one borrowed for the occasion.
Now, never mind the weird EM’s
Or NF’s nonsense by the Thames
That planet-vandal, DJT,
Plus Europe-disser, JDV,
I’ve come by Honda here to say
We’re back on first of June. OK?