First comes the wind – just a whisper, just a breath
The fresh, clean smell of the earth in its caress.
Then come the clouds, like the down of goslings gray,
Slowly, softly dimming the sunshine of the day.
A quiet, growing rumble heralds droplets, small and clear;
Gems and jewels they shimmer, each a round and radiant tear.
The mist is quickly growing, first a drizzle, then a pour;
The droplets turn to sheets and still the sky is shedding more.
A flash illuminates the heavens, cracks percussive in the air,
Sound and light and buckets pounding down without a care.
But slowly, now, the never-ending flood begins to cease;
The cascade turns to droplets once again, no longer sheets.
The heavenly bombardment ebbs in strength, is now a spray;
A final, growling rumble sounds; the teardrops fade away.
The clouds move on, the twilight breaks, a breeze reveals the sun;
A splash of color 'gainst the sky; the tempest now is done.