Windy Winding Wind

Wicked wind I hate you so, I’d rather sit in ice cold snow, Your breath is cold and touch So fraught, I think your soul from Devil bought A paragraph from weather’s Tale, you’d think you were the Holy Grail; speeding, pushing, Blowing crush None escapes your windy whoosh! Cutty Sark or clothes on bush, Strutting, cutting, butting breeze Lifts old maids’ dress past their knees, Blows the lash from pretty eyes, Takes the thrush and clouds from Skies; no escape from this cruel jape Windy, weather, mistral‘s shape