Thunder, slowly settling its weight of authority.
Hovering atop our highest towers, devouring our afternoon view.
Hovering atop our highest towers, devouring our afternoon view.
Birds signaling the threat, flashing through the branches prematurely.
Trees, spreading and stretching their arms, succumbing to the rain.
Worms digging deeper.
Ducks hiding in their wings.
And then it begins.
2 comments:
“Poetry is the music of the soul, and, above all, of great and feeling souls.”, Volt.air.e
thanks for sharing. your beauty makes my soul all the richer.
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