The sun pours down its golden rays,
The dark clouds sneeze out rain,
The rainbow streaks its arc so high,
The winds all whine again.
When old man winter shakes his head,
His dandruff falls as snow;
The ice is nature’s pane of glass,
The frost its whiffing blow.
The white clouds hang like cotton puffs,
And as the sun sinks low,
They catch on fire with its last rays
And set the sky aglow.
The mist arises from the lakes,
The dew sweats on the yard;
The fog that nestles in the air
Makes driving very hard.
The sun, the wind, the clouds, the rain--
Yes, all these things together
Each in their role make up the thing
That we call changing weather.
One of my few "secular" poems...