Weather Lore

Weather Lore

March in like a lion, out like a lamb, they say:
But I am not so sure, looking out across the bay;
I remember the winds, the rain, the howling gale,
At start of March, only a brave skipper set sail;
And now at the end, the fierce breakers rolling in:
A stormy coast reminding me of Jamaica Inn;
Between the tides, the smugglers ply their trade,
But in this weather, by the warm fireside stayed,
Quaffing their pints of ale, singing songs of the sea,
While boats remain safe moored at the quay;
March is ending with the same incessant rain,
And Easter Saturday is empty grief and pain;
The sun dimmed, and the light has gone out:
The tidal currents foaming with self-doubt;
Darkness visible, the lamps going out again:
War threatens once more the world of men;
March’s own god, Mars, the bringer of war,
Echoes in the rain, the gales, the tidal roar;
The shadows grow long, and longer still:
In a war torn world, where to find goodwill?
Amidst refugees, a world turned on its head:
Only destruction, fear, hate are not dead;
And yet, the empty altar, bare, and alone,
Crosses carved into hard, uncaring stone,
The cold damp earth, the sodden grave,
Are not the final word. Be brave, be brave!
Hope lies in patience, waits in darkness now,
And as sun dawns, makes her rainbow vow.