Channel 2 weather forecast,
Predicted a little storm.
I never believed it's magnitude.
The weather was very warm.
And now it caught speed,
Of a kind I knew.
It twirled the hair,
On the top of my head,
'How queer, ' I said.
The storm was mighty,
It blew bikes and buses around.
It blew in volumes and volumes,
Of crazy sound around.
I enjoyed this storm,
And my wet skin.
I was sad when it stopped,
It's rawness of wild wind.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem