Storm
Golden wheat nodding
In the breeze, grasses
Rustling, trees twisting
In the ferocious wind.
Clouds dancing across
The sky, roses bobbing
On slender stems, chimes
Singing sweetly.
A roaring as the wind
Passes over the house,
Glass panes rattling
In their frames.
Dishes on the table
Bounce, doors slam
Of their own accord, while
Still the wind blows.
Finally the storm is
Past us, twisting its way
To the next town, spitting
Things out as it goes.
Copyright © Cella Rose | Year Posted 2016
|