The Storm

   An infant rain, not yet full-grown,

drifts tearfully down the sides of the world.

And its muffled cries, soft groans and moans,

wrench the hearts of mothers asunder,

as the air is filled with peals of soft thunder.



The furrowed brows of clouds, foreboding,

scowl upon the wretched land.

With their lightning whips they strike at many

trees, that wince at the sight of others

struck, by Mother Nature's hand.



All four winds now join together -

Northern, Southern, Eastern, Western,

to wreak havoc with the weather,

and make a jigsaw of the sky,

that falls in pieces with a sigh.