Ilk

What will it do now,
As it rains then snows,
And things of that ilk?

How long can you wait
Perched on a cliff’s lip
Where few lives are seen?

It’s all like with like
And none quite the same.
You wait. Check the news.

Check the milk-grey skies
From which the snow flies.
Dig out some old terms,

Words no one would use
To put in the news.
A squall’s a storm still.

It blows through. It’s gone.
Or, it kills you. You’re gone.
Old terms. The road goes

White. The cliff goes white.
It all looks just like.
What? Will you? Wait how?