The Elements

The Elements

It’s written in the wind,
it’s written in the rain,
it’s written in the snow and ice
you slip on down the lane.

It’s written on the window
in little drops of grey,
that join and race each other
then lose themselves halfway.

It’s written in the branches
that knock upon the door,
then scatter all their golden leaves
across the garden floor.

It’s written in the thunder—
well, someone’s in a mood!
I’ve only nipped to fetch the bins;
there’s no need to be rude.

It’s written in the sunlight
that peeps around a cloud,
as though it’s asking quietly,
“Have they finished being loud?”

It’s written in the frost
that sparkles on the gate,
so pretty from the doorstep—
so slippery when you’re late.

It’s written on my face
when rain comes pouring through;
my hood has blown straight off again,
and now it’s in my shoe.

So let them have their little show,
I’m home and staying in.
I’ll watch them with a lovely brew—
then out comes that sun again!