We’re marooned in a caravan
and the rain is pouring down.
It’s pounding on the roof top,
a relentless, driving sound.

There’s a moat forming around us
and the ducks are moving in.
We could be here for days and days.
It could be sink or swim.

But inside the caravan,
It’s cosy, warm and bright.
We’ll dream of sun and sea and waves
While it buckets down all night.

(In response to prompt Winter Waves)