Thunder Storm

Tumbling, towering,

High in the sky, rages the terrible tempest.

Umbrellas go up, as shields for battle.

Nigh is the power of the cold, dark, looming, booming, raincloud.

Down under beds and in mothers’ arms children hide, as to

Escape the fury of the rumbling gale.

Ripping and tearing through all lands alike, the downpour leaves trails of chaos about.

Say, though, when the tempest is done,

The Earth seems brand new, refreshed from the drink.

Out from beds and mothers’ arms children come,

Running about as to splish, splash, and splosh.

Mighty, the downpour, but beautiful, its results.