Too Sensitive by Far

I stagger off the sweltering bus,
And enter blessed shade.
Its cool brings soothing respite
From the searing glare.

It seems not very long ago,
That this whole land was frozen.
Yet now we suffer from the heat,
And its companion pollen.

It is our fate,
We're delicate,
Too sensitive by far,
To warmth or cold or wind or wet,
Which our contentment mar.

This was composed in St Margaret's bus station, at the end of a long hot trip.

It is reportage in the form of verse. 

On a related theme: 

Spring the Changes 

If an alien explorer landed upon Earth, and had only enough bandwidth to send back one

sentence to describe us, it would surely be: 'They grumble about the weather.'