With its cool curved wind of a hand,
And throws out its petticoat lacy and white
With a swish-swish over the sand.
Its blue dress fluttering, tinted with the sun,
Hangs from its girdle white-spaced,
And a far ship riding with its nose in hiding
Stands black like a buckle at its waist.
It begins to rain and the lake birds fly
With a whir and an angry screech,
As the thin grey fingers reach down from the sky