Floodgates-------A Title Contest

She remembers the shimmer of one Sunday morning The sun had grown dimmer on the overcast seas The color of yellow, spread long amber fingers And the sycamore trees cast strange somber shadows. There was a threat in the sky and the faint sound of thunder Then a flash in the hills, in the blink of an eye, Clouds gathered so quickly on the hillside, nearby They rudely unlatched all the floodgates within When a minute had passed light shined once again and a radiant sun spread like gold end to end At the old oak table, she sat in the kitchen Staring at paper, with a pen in her hand Searching for muse and the words for a poem, seeking the magic, to paint with a pen Hoping for gold in the late summer's bend While hearing the tapping of rain and the plunder And as quickly as storms, come out of nowhere, a floodgate of verses resounded like the thunder and flashes of lightning struck lines here and there. Pouring on paper, like rivulets on windows a floodgate unleashed, were the words in a row Painting a river, a poem she could own and words that would capture the late summer storm ___________________________________________________________ Contest: "Titles" Required using titles of our first 5 poems. 9/17/15 (Titles of my first five poems:) The Old Oak Table Dimmer Yellow Sunday Morning Unlatched Entered again: 'Second Chance for the Unloved Poem' Contest Sponsor: Jesse Rowe