Pollarded

Right. 

I've had quite enough

of sloshing about in sleety rain in my sabots.

I've had it with 

scurrying from car fug to shop warmth,

low energy lightbulbs,

peering out a grimy grey skies,

emptying gritty ash from grates,

shivering in the shower,

hunching my shoulders,

scarfing my neck,

hatting my head,

gloving my hands.

The Toast spring catalogue has arrived.

Cue sunshine

and weather girls

forecasting sensible centigrades

in double digits.

Sixteen would suffice.