Naught can be heard against its shrieking wails.

Though you’ll not ask I’ll keep you safe and warm.

Among cross winds and bitter ugly gales,

together we’ll draw close against the storm.

You sing of “woulds” and “coulds” where winds don’t bite

but tickle noses. Careful not to sneeze.

Though I try to see times to fly a kite,

these gusts so far have not deinged thus to please.

There'd be less rain, more shine if it were fair,

but I'd not trade all bad clime for all good,

not if I'd forfeit you as my owed share.

So thank the God that willed it as I would.

For here’s an ill kept secret we both know:

we need sun and rain both or we’ll not grow.