Summer can be rather rude, as it hides best views away,
By spoiling what might have otherwise been a clear view scenic day.
It's not so much I don't like all its vast resplendent trees,
No, it's more their extravagant foliage, through which the view is but a tease.

And, the sun overstays its welcome when I'm keen to get to bed,
Appears too bright and early when I try catch-up instead.
Yes, I like the lingering days compared with their curtailed kind in the winter,
But I wish there'd be a balance between the saunterer and sprinter.

And well, it can be far too hot and so it spoils time spent outdoors,
Of course I like the sun but what seems sensible, it ignores.
And so encourages creepy crawlies of the bitey-stingy kind,
Creates conditions for them to loiter where you'd prefer not them to find.

Oh, and everywhere is busy as families take a welcome break,
And try their best competing, a memorable holiday to make.
Then Seagulls take advantage as on the hapless hungry pick,
When these persistent portly predators, unguarded lunches swoop and nick.

But I suppose the summer does its best with all the expectation,
And I appreciate all the time it spends through spring in preparation.
So perhaps it's me being the one that’s rude, not the season and its flow,
For it’s merely trying to please the many, put on its finest show.

And, the very last thing I think I'm going to about the summer say,
Is that before you know, it’s been and gone and heartless fled away.
Yet though to me this seems as if the epitome of rude,
I’m going to rather miss that rudeness ‘till again next year reviewed.