Wind, running her fingers
Through my hair,
The sun,
With his beaming smile,
Glows with the happiness
Of today.
Clouds, puffy and white,
Soon coat the sun with
The darkness of the storm
Approaching.
The birds become silent with anticipation,
I stand, paralyzed with fear,
And face the oncoming storm.
I will not be afraid.
I will not be afraid.
Cold rain stings my skin.
Frosty air burns my lungs.
Thunder claps a rhythm in my ears.
I hear my mother calling me home,
But I will not run to her.
I will not run to her.
As soon as it starts,
The storm is over.
I am drenched.
My bones ache from the chillingly warm air.
The sun has reappeared,
And again he smiles.
The wind is running her fingers
Through my hair once again.
All is well.
All is normal.
The storm is gone.
