White snow stars swirl the sky tonight,
Though singing birds have promised Spring,
Al Roker, for once you were right,
But, who believes the weatherman?
Bare trees, too long in winter’s chill,
Were so quickly coaxed to budding,
Now fickle winds with frigid will,
Foreshadow frost with lethal sting.
Come sun tomorrow, buds will fall,
The singing birds have taken wing,
Their presence promised early thaw,
But, I guess they’re only human.