Awash in a big sea
Of black nylon shells
We saunter sad faced
As if funeral bells
Have raucously rung
Out their clangs of doom,
This dull slate grey sky
Wraps us in its cloak of gloom.

Summer has left us
Or, so it does seem,
Warm sunlight on the face
Is but a faded dream
That rarely returns
To our sun starved Land;
A sunshine famine for us -
It seems we have been banned!

O, poor Swallows huddled
In cups beneath the eaves
Must wonder what migrating
To here really achieves.
Yet, we must be positive,
Sunny days can’t be far away,
For oft used umbrellas
Will have had their day.
Those sunny hours will visit us,
“It’s too hot!” we’ll complain,
“Come back cooler weather
We prefer to have the rain."