Loose clouds, sink dreams of sunny days and sunny ways,
They are the front runners the fore tellers, driven
before the wind of the next wave of water falling
from the sky and from my eye.

It is a SIGN, It is a SIGN, I tell you don't wear a target out
when Scuds are about, It is a sign of bad weather and my doom.
DOOM I say!  Falls fool and Winters wimp, blown in my haggard face!

Seeing Scuds (a loose vapory missile, leading the bad weather)
at my doorsteps, dampening my foot falls, scud after scud,
more bad weather, dark clouds, I bend into the wind
head down so I won't drown and the Scuds can't see my eyes,

That I have given up, hide oh hooded head
and given in, I use my umbrella to hide behind,
will I or it survive the wind?
until spring rings in, with summer.
.