March is a liar.

March, you're a liar.

Moseying over, fistful of daffs ripped 'sumol girl's bed.

Always promising the world, with a smile,

Like some seasonal Del Boy.

And you say, here, have some hope, summer's lush,

And we look up, but you're always never there.

Just words on a jaundiced sky:

'There can be no Spring'.