The Flower and the Storm
What is this upon the rosy vine?
As evening sunlight’s sloth entwines
Shadows thickening against a sky
Of approaching stormy jagged clouds
Lit inside with flash and sound
Thunder’s rumble shook the ground
And on the vine when all were closed
One flower stood in blank repose
As if to mock the storms advance
And bear witness to the carnal dance
Of elemental beauty, so it seemed
Or perhaps it was just stupidity
But there stubbornly the flower sat
As softly rose the pitter-pat
Of the first of many drops
To fall steaming on the lava rocks
But soon the rocks were quenched
The flower too completely drenched
Thunder’s grinding crack then wrenched
The modest quiet
And its basso rumbling
Set the very pebbles trembling
Thus it went; the storm did pass
But the flower’s soft pink petals fast
Were beaten off and hammered down
Upon the wet and windswept ground
As ash from some dark tragedy
Yet as beautiful as all can be
Copyright © Jacob Estetter | Year Posted 2007
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