A spiteful squall has woken me from sleep.
Its petulance disturbs the once calm air.
A streak of moody mixed with April mean,
an aura of "Come get me if you dare".
It bends and bows the limbs of silver birch,
then whips the pegs left lonely on the line.
Soon trellis fixed upon the old brick wall
has parted from its honeysuckle vine.
The Chinese lanterns, giddy on the beam
and bamboo chimes which soothe with hollow sound
are clinging on like artistes on trapeze,
in fear of falling fretful to the ground.
But snug inside his cosy, covered bed,
a sleeping feline acts as if he's dead.