Constant changes, never defined,
she's constant beauty to be so kind.
Her gracious smile at times in year
do try to hide her more careful tear
that falls upon the earth again
she waits not long to pour more pain.
We the people do predict
her deceitful ways, her cunning tricks.
After all her hated nuisance cries
she teases us with better lies
but still it seems we haven't learnt,
without her change, we're artlessly burnt.
Her rays, what beauty does so hide
a poison bite that takes a life.
It fools my eyes, my head, my trust,
for constant beauty's merely lust.
Although I am sure you will have gathered this yourself, yes, the poem is about the weather.