The wind railed the long Jeremiad of the night,
undoing as much as it could, in its spite,
of yesterday's intermittent rain, in evaporate.
It rattled what it could of superstructures
and lectured light sleepers with its strictures,
berating minds, though weather-boards be insensate.
This morning I heard it from afar,
surly gnashing in the remnant forest, raw,
and greatly reluctant at first to re-stir
paddock pines sheltering the verandah.
The birds among themselves recriminate
a morning cold as any winter-end.
They cannot blithely sing, remind spring things,
but with another challenge must contend;
for noisy miners cannot own the wind's intent
(though they may guess at riddles of the air)
nor reason with tall clouds as to where
a blistering white sunlight went.
About a mean comeuppance, sing:
'Oh there will, there will, there will be a reckoning!'
Numb yourself up with caffeine as you may;
gruffly begin your jacket-buttoned day.
