A Summer Poem

Stop complaining that it's damned too hot;
You're moaning and groaning more often than not;
I loved the cold, but you won't give it a shot;
By the time it comes round, you'll all have forgot!
I can probably see why you think that you're right;
The sun is wonderfully warm and bright;
The warm summer flowers are a wonderful sight;
And on a fresh summer's day one might;
Go to the shops and buy a few clothes;
Walk in the park as the temperate wind blows;
Go to a theatre and watch some good shows;
Visit a florist and buy a red rose;
But what of the wonders you can find if you know?
About the cold and the wonders of snow?
When the trees are bare with snow-laden bows,
And have been there since many long winters ago,
And just before, in my favourite season,
The Autumn, the browns and reds are my reason,
To say that I hate the cold is surely treason,
When Autumn and Winter provide the most glee, son.
So please just accept that whatever you do,
Make the most of the weather, oh how I knew,
About the wonderful cold when the sky went all blue,
And I suppose that this means that this is my cue,
To make sure, with taste,
That I end this poem in the greatest of haste,
I sure hope that neither Summer nor Winter you waste,
And make sure that with challenges faced;
You find a way to answer your needs;
Temperature; Weather and Garden Weeds;
Just stop complaining; please concede;
That everything's fine, indeed.

Thanks.