Weather

I watch the weather
Coming in.
I do not tarry,
There to grin.

Because it chills,
Me to the bone.
My fingers ache,
And then...I groan.

Goose-pimples rise,
Upon my arms.
The shuddering shakes,
Leaves me no charms.

T'is a heavy cloud-cover,
So much over done.
And not a trace of a break-through,
Will let in the sun.

My Goodness! O My Goodness!
The rain...it just pours.
Now...I am in the house,
And I've shut all the doors.


E.P. 1908 - 1989