Song of the Storm

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I do not know which to prefer,
A painted sunset
Or the budding blooms
The melody of a thunderstorm
Or the silence just after.

It was twilight all morning.
It was raining
And it was going to rain.
The shadows took over
While the light struggled to fight back.

I know regal languages
And beautiful, repetitive songs;
But I know, too,
That the thunderstorm is part
Of what I know.

O gracious men of Worshire,
Why do you imagine a clear day?
Do you not hear how the storm
Weaves its music together,
Unbroken and unwavering?





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