My Barometer

My little maid with golden hair Comes each morning for a kiss; And I know the day will be fine and fair When Polly looks like this.

Or I know the clouds will frown and lower, The skies will be dull and gray, And perhaps there’ll be a passing shower, When Polly looks this way.

But a violent storm of rain or snow I can prognosticate, For the sign will never fail, I know, When this is Polly’s pate.