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
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