A Gentle Breeze
It begins as a gentle breeze
that rustles the leaves with its touch.
Scurrying through the tops of trees,
it begins as a gentle breeze.
Not enough to discourage bees,
it is barely brisk; it isn't much.
It begins as a gentle breeze
that rustles the leaves with its touch.
It is barely brisk; it isn't much,
until that breeze begins to gust.
Yet birds can still escape its clutch:
it is barely brisk; it isn't much.
It topples garbage cans and such,
gathering up a cloud of dust.
It is barely brisk; it isn't much,
until that breeze begins to gust.
Gathering up a cloud of dust,
a darkness blocks out the Sun's light.
And winds blow, with increasing thrust;
gathering up a cloud of dust.
When the sky turns orangey rust,
tornadoes are a frightful sight.
Gathering up a cloud of dust,
a darkness blocks out the Sun's light.
Tornadoes are a frightful sight,
with debris flying through the air.
Morphing into objects of might,
tornadoes are a frightful sight.
Finding cover, we hang on tight,
for flying shrapnel packs a scare.
Tornadoes are a frightful sight,
with debris flying through the air.
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