The coldest, forceful wind may blow;
The sun may, sometimes, golden glow;
The rain may, often, showery show;
The sky may dust the land with snow.

When it blows my hat is tied;
In the heat 'neath shade I hide;
I shy from rain until it's dried;
As it snows, I stay inside.

I don't mind a raucous gale
Or the sunburn in the vale
Nor the damp as raindrops sail
I love the biting snowflake hail.

A gust may roar throughout the night
But by the day the sun may bright;
A storm may rage with all its might
The winter snowfall, purest white.

So come what may my senses see
All that nature gifts to me.
Fair or foul, wild and free,
That's the way it's meant to be.