Pour a bucket of water over my head and have done with it!
Why do you have to keep adding insult to injury?
I only wanted a dry day for a change – and what happens?
Yup! Another rain cloud poised above me, the moment that I venture forth, disposes of its contents upon little, old me.
It was a Friday
in February,
and took place upon an island.
Sound familiar?
The wind was:
a, blowing,
b, blowing a lot
c, at such a level whereby an ‘Amber-coloured’ alert had been issued.
d, all of the above
e, none of the above
f, some of the above; but, in larger or smaller quantities
g, there is no ‘g’ option.
It also rained.
Wind and Rain
what a combination!
No Sun, no Rainbow or multiples thereof.
The wind id usually cold and forceful;
the rain wet and wetter still.
All in all, a typical day in February.
And, one of a long line of suchlike days just experienced
and to come.
Let me take a bow
to the rain
and how it falls upon me.
And how that I can get
absolutely soaking wet
which is never quite beyond me.
I was standing in the sun
it shone on everyone
but, especially, on me.
And then I saw the bow,
took a picture so I’d know
that the Sun had even been…
here, with me.
So, now I’m drying off
I sniffle and I cough,
a sneeze is soon forthcoming,
Because, I went out in the Sun
and came home in the rain,
that upon my head was drumming.
When that I was and a little tiny boy,
With hey, ho, the wind and the rain,
A foolish thing was but a toy,
For the rain it raineth every day.
But when I came to man’s estate,
With hey, ho, the wind and the rain,
’Gainst knaves and thieves men shut their gate,
For the rain it raineth every day.
But when I came, alas! to wive,
With hey, ho, the wind and the rain,
By swaggering could I never thrive,
For the rain it raineth every day.
But when I came unto my beds,
With hey, ho, the wind and the rain,
With toss-pots still had drunken heads,
For the rain it raineth every day.
A great while ago the world begun,
With hey, ho, the wind and the rain,
But that’s all one, our play is done,
And we’ll strive to please you every day.
Under Cornish skies
I could get quite wet,
as the rain it falls on me.
When will it end?
Has it only just begun?
When will it let me be?
Although the lakes
and reservoirs were thirsty,
I think they have had their fill;
enough to see the Winter through;
but, rain it does
upon my head
I suppose it always will.
Season of mist and rain,
and rain again;
then some more,
and a few drops
like dew drops
that splatter upon the floor.
We wish
that the rain
in Cornwall
would fall
all the more
upon the moor –
as if.
There had been a drabble of rain across the county for over three weeks now; the hosepipe ban was still in force, even though the reservoir had overflowed and flooded parts of the valley; and the stock of Barbecues in the local store had not decreased by any significant amount – even though they were under a BOGOF Offer.
The forecast was for more of the same and less of the dry stuff – though how you could get less than ‘none’ is a question I’d like to ask the weather-girl.
All in all we were heading for a wet winter.
