Oregon in early spring,
a cruel land of gray skies,
daily showers and icy pellets,
even snow to hide the drab..
Rare glimpses of sunshine tantalize
with quick promise of warming rays,
scurries back to hide behind dark clouds
or the early night of days too short.
How like young maiden, a coquette
who breathes favors with dimpled smiles,
then quick away from eager swain
before his fevered hopes unmet.
The cold of winter lingers long.
No young lad I, tempted by hopes,
plaintive pleas, I yearn more from her,
more sun to warm my garden bed.