The Weathervane

Here's a poem I dug out of my collection - it was written while I was in grade 9. Enjoy!

The Weathervane

The north wind blows a breeze of snow,
The south wind brings us rain;
The east and west will never rest,
Just ask the weathervane

That rooster sits atop my house
In wind, in sleet, in hail;
And not one sound have I found
Will he ever wail

Bad weather, it will come and go
Its future can't be told
Except by certain special ones
Oh tell us, bird of gold!



(c) Erin English 1996