The Stormbird
Lonely Stormbird calls,
‘I am here. Choose me. Love me’.
Distant thunder rolls.
Flying rain in air —
Touching my cheek, alighting
On my eyelashes.
I hear, rain music —
On leaves, on roof, in gutters,
Muted cars hiss by.
The rain burnishes
Dull browns and greens — to copper,
To emerald fire.
After — sun’s rays raise
Steam; from road, leaf and feather.
Lonely Stormbird calls,
Copyright © Shell Mcconville | Year Posted 2015
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