Thunder
The silence from thunder,
an act of God.
Where will he strike?
This way or odd.
Then there's a flash.
A still dark sky.
Quiet for moments.
My breath for a sigh.
Fresh pollen fog
falls cold on my brow.
Cool are my ear-lobes.
The ground for a sow.
Pensive and perched
I'm listening in time.
Will it come close?
Were it that I'm.
Copyright © Trevor Mcleod | Year Posted 2014
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