This is an alphabet poem using Shakespeare's words except for k and q. I use ex for x and the title is also Shakespeare's.
Will rain arouse still sleeping buds
Which form small bumps upon thin twigs?
“The weatherman,” a critic claims,
“His status dwindles. He reneges!”
Exposure to white morning frost.
Gray, frugal clouds withhold their store.
Sad, gloomy sky darkens sad sun.
Air hints of rain, but nothing more.
Stale drought impedes the waiting growth,
Becoming jaded by cold’s strength.
We hope each limb will keep its life,
While lonely from long winter’s length.
Majestic life waits in the wings,
While spring negotiates awhile.
It seems obscene to wait so long,
While winter pukes with evil smile.
How quietly young tulips sleep.
Their radiance anticipates.
With swagger they will burst aflame,
When tranquil sun rushes strong gates.
Spring seems unreal though every year,
Wild varied weather has no date.
Not worthless even if frost bites
And rain brings its excitement late,
Then yields its glory in the sun
And sets life free in zany fun.