Garden Storm
The garden is red and white, rows and rows.
Stars are golden amidst a midnight sky.
Ebon roses and gray, somnolent crows.
Shadows of statues pray; angels are nigh.
Disquiet thunder; silhouettes darken.
Lightning momentarily turns scene bright.
Storms might linger; lavish scent of garden.
Chiseled, cherub chins stone-faced, see the light.
Their faces askance with each brightening.
If angels could hide their faces and kneel -
Instead wings hover - under clouds’ twinkling.
The buds - no worse the wear for their ordeal.
Sentient prima donna by blithesome day;
Roses and halos become shadow play.
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