Straight From The Urals (Poetry)

It’s the Russians send our weather
quite how they do it no one knows
their intent’s to make us suffer
with each bitter gale that blows

And they’re to blame for all the flooding
rumour says they’ve rain machines
that manufacture massive storm clouds
meteorological wetland dreams

See how they ruin summer picnics
festivals and weddings too
sending thunderbolts and lightning
like native skies would never do!

For they are evil weather-witches
and should the sun cast a warm spell
on the swamp-grown ponds and ditches
clouds soon block it — black as Hell

And future forecasts aren’t too hopeful
they’re predicting chilling stuff
days and days of gloomy drizzle
plus threats of hail if cold enough

We have our spies inside the Kremlin
snug in their undercover roles
who’ve discovered fiendish blueprints
for umbrellas full of holes

those sneaky Russians plan to sell us
it’s a dastardly cruel plot
to make us flap around like fishes
build an ark or steal a yacht

Once we’re soaked right through — half-drownded
weatherbeaten and forlorn
they will load their water pistols
challenge us come red sea dawn

But we’ll resist their tidal onslaught
don sou’westers and be brave
put our faith in mackintoshes
wear our wellies to the grave

It seems old Putin underrates us
or in his dotage lost the plot
our British spirit sails undaunted
so come on Vlad — what else you got?