The clouds all roll like breakers ‘cross the ocean of the sky
White horses a-chasing greys, with dapples running by
The thunderheads, black stallions a-gallop with the gale
As howls the call of the banshee storm bringing sleet and hail.
The trees bend low before the wind, which makes like autumn spring
As leaves and twigs and buds and flowers they rip away and fling
The hollow roar of taunting gusts, the pounding of the rain
The water from the river floods the fields and drowns the lane.
The fingers of the tempest from the roofs rips slates free
Vital pylons are brought down by gusts of o’er eighty
The human world turned upsidedown as wounded nature ranges
Unseasonal and more extreme, and still the climate changes…