To My Tart Mistress - Enough Of The Hissy Fit Storm Wellington Poem by Keith Shorrocks Johnson

You were in a foul mood this morn
Tossing your curls at every turn -
As the sun rose, there were salt tears
And shrill scolds and glowers fierce.

Hell hath no fury like that gale
That puts hearts down to shrink and fail.
Had we but world enough and time
This temper lady were no crime

We would sit down and think which way
To quieten and set to rights the play
Across the storm-tossed harbour side
Where lingers love upon the tide.

Still unchecked blasts bemoan no good
As breakers cross the beach and flood
And so I must forgo your praise
As on destruction wide I gaze.

Once adored now a harpy beast
I set you now amongst the least.
But smiles will come on other days
When freshling conquests test thy ways -

Lady none can with thee compare
When skies are blue and sun is fair.
No more complaints - I love you still
And see it clear and always will.