With apologies to that greatest of Geoffreys, the Well of English Undefiled and one-time Clerk of the King's Works...
April has not yet with showers sweet
The drought imposed by March made to defeat,
But the month before was not so dry,
And temperatures unseasonally high
Have called the buds of flowers into bloom
And kept them from expected freezing doom.
How the Ram has run its course and how
The western winds have matters not now,
Nor yet how birds make melodies
In bright plumage the rare person sees.
The pilgrimages taken anymore
Have sent the youth away; into the door
From which they left they have come back again,
Sharing many stories with their friends
As work continues, hastening to May
When my work ends, and theirs, and they will play
While I will not a blissful martyr seek,
But instead more work, for I am meek.