Space heater running, an emanating block
Of hot hot heat, making it seem like the clock
Is at noon (or thereabouts), on a spring day: the Equinox!
The warmth, it is coming, with the certainty of flocks
Of the birds (and baseball players, but nothing like a Roc)
Who return with warmer weather and, if they're athletes, don their Jocks
To start to play their games, and hope they're good, not laughing-stocks.
And before I try to end a line with "We're drowning in shamrocks"
I will close this latest entry, and dream of swimming in a loch.