When winter came
I cried and groaned
And when it snowed
I really moaned.

But now it's Spring
And I am free
To praise that weather
Made for me.

But summertime
Is almost here
And I complain
With accent clear.

That's when the weather
Causes grief
It's when the heat
Shows no relief.

With those hot days
Not far away
That's when the
Weathermen will say.

"Hail is coming
Late today
And thunderstorms
Are on their way."

Twisters, cyclones --
All that stuff.
Make me sick
I've had enough.

Perhaps we should
Take what we get
Accept it all
With no regret.

For all the talk
One fact is true
There isn't much
That we can do.

(c) 2005 Henry L. Lefevre

Feel free to copy this poem or to email it to your friends as long as you include the following credit:

by Henry L. Lefevre
http://www.authorsden.com/henrylefevre