A flasher in the sun out on the street,

When the rain fell became discreet.

Outside it was raining really hard,

He wrote this poem and became a bard.

 

"Weather is a storm or a sun in our conversation,

Gives us plenty to talk about as a nation.

I look through my window the weather's getting worse,

Oh my goodness a funeral ,wonder who's in that hearse.

 

 

Rain is something we british are good at,

We bring it on in cricket when the opposition bat.

I hang out my washing on the line,

It brings out the rain when things were fine.

 

A lady on holiday over here ,I was told,

Nearly got married when she got cold.

But when she went back to her home in Madrid,

She got really warm and never did."

 

By Thunder