Are what they be…
No more, no less.
We study their course,
Try to do the best
We can in the time
It takes the sun to set,
The wind to cease,
The snow to melt.
We could move elsewhere,
But then we’d need adjust
To other weather patterns—
Climate of such varied degrees,
We couldn’t trace the stars,
Or know which trees
Shed their autumn leaves.
Still, though, we complain—
Swear an act of God
Waits patiently to betray us.
Yes, we grumble and groan
Each day and night away,
Pray for a short respite
Between now and then—
When nature’s curious whim,
Returns to vex us again.
