Carolyn Wells

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.