I have part of a poem my departed Mama taught me as a child, (many YRS AGO.) I have TRIED AND TRIED on the search engines and various sites to find it, to no avail.....
"The wind was out of sorts today,
The wind was like a shrew
Whose anger fed upon itself
As anger will, and grew
Until, at fever pitch and"..............(crazed??)
the next line is something about its beating on the gate
