It is weather madness, indeed:
Intermittent torrential rains.
This grayness, when will it recede?
I sorrow to watch blue-tinged skies wane.
Where go the roadside wild flowers
In the creeping ocean of mud?
The wind erodes the trees and scours
The struggling growth of fresh buds.
I drive the winding rural roads
In the idyllic hill country
Thankful for the brief calm bestowed
Amid storm-tossed reality.
My mind feels the pattern keenly
As it pulls this a way and that,
I chide: best hold on to your hat.