Predicting The Weather

I was thinking of weather predictions,

Which I had learned so long ago,

Some are worth remembering,

While some should be let go.

A red sky at morning,

Is often a sign of rain,

While morning grass not touched by dew,

Will most likely mean the same.

I haven’t found cattle reliable,

Just because they all lie down,

Perhaps it’s a group rumination,

In the stillness they have found.

But when the leaves all show their bottoms,

With the lifting of the wind,

We can be sure that bad weather,

Is coming through, my friend.

Of course I like the rhyming ones,

“Rain before seven,”

Rhymes with the couplet,

“Will quit by eleven.” 

I find myself at night,

Glancing at the moon,

And if there is a ring around it,

I know rain will come soon. 

Of course in childish belief,

I’d count the stars the ring contained,

With a notion it would be that many days,

Before it would have rained.

When smoke rises straight up from the chimney,

A lovely day I can expect,

But when the smoke hugs the ground,

A wet, damp, day I would project.

All these prophecies from childhood,

I’ve collected here together,

But of course we know their accuracy,

Will depend upon the weather.