It is warm. My ancient cat and the crocus, crocuses or croci, whatever you want to call them, are, like me, enjoying the warmth of the sun.
I am reminded of the poem :
Spring is sprung,
Da grass is riz,
I wonder where dem boidies iz ?
Da little boids is on da wing,
Ain't dat absoid,
Da little wings is on da boid.
A poem not by e e cummings, or by Ogden Nash, but that other well known poet called : 'Anonymous'.
Isn't that interesting ?
