Spiral round and round and down;
Take the pathway to the town.
Then sit upon the empty bench;
Under the dark clouds that drench,
While puddles grow around your form.
More and more of them do spawn.
Before the wind comes cutting through.
It ignores the layers that cover you.
Chills without a hint of pause.
Snapping just like a set of jaws.
Then it dies to give way to rain.
All of it is coming down again.
Not a glimpse or a glimmer;
That this day may soon be a winner.
Just a rotten soaking pour.
One that is reaching to your core.
But bothered it seems you are not.
You look happy with your lot.
For the air is fresh if not chilly.
And you feel like a water lily.
So you remain and watch the world.
As all it’s beauty is unfurled.
Then when your fill has been met.
Up you stand and off you get.
Heading back to your home.
To climb that spiral which is known.