I heard the wind scouring trees
As around my head danced whirling leaves,
In the sky, the clouds they raced
Scudding, at some graceless pace.
The wind gave voice, in manic howlings
As chimney pots surrendered cowlings,
Any hope of calm now cast asunder,
For in the distance, rumbled thunder.
A crack, a flash, blinding, bright,
Lightning sparked to my delight,
Who is not humbled by a storm,
For 'tis the day, being reborn.
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