The Weather Poem by Nancy Byrd Turner

Sometimes the weather is a man
With gray cloak flying free;
His coat of mail is icy hail,
A stormy steed rides he.
I cuddle in my bed at night
With curtains gathered fast,
While just outside the window pane,
With clinking spur and rattling rein,
He gallops, gallops past.

Sometimes the weather is a girl
With eyes of bonny blue;
Gay flowers twined in every curl,
Green buckles on each shoe;
Her mantle's wrought in shining gold,
Her face is sweet with fun;
She reaches out and takes my hand,
And, laughing, through the happy land
We run, run, run!