It is tricky to predict a storm
Yet, birds and fowl, us inform.
Even before the clouds warn,
They hunker, feathers tight
When not a drop is in sight.
Hours later, when all is quiet –
Jupiter’s thunder stirs the night,
‘Til heaven baristas the firmament.
Yet, spin-drying their feathers
Like twirling dervish dancers,
Birds and fowl, preen in the deluge;
Their confidence, an innate refuge
Water-proofed with the resin of foresight.
How marvelous is that.