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In the kingdom of the sun-shower

the same landscape’s never the same;

where wind roars like thunder

and everything is always changing colour,

rain happens overnight

and washes the face of the world;

the water runs in gullies and puddles,

sullied and clear,

and suddenly spring up frog places,

lush basking spaces that as suddenly disappear;

cannily disguised as leaves

are left thumbing by the fringe of the road,

the ex-wonders,

though the swans are as solid as ever,

breasting the current two by two,

cool denizens of the fiefdom of flux.