Storm
And so rides the passing storm,
Leaving every leaf by rain adorned,
Sparkling in the rising sun,
And running when the rain is done.
Etched into the window panes,
Of every misty road and lane,
An eerie fog of sparkling dust,
That hides some from the rest of us.
Then the sun will set again,
And all its rays will sing the end,
The moon will rise above the clouds,
Shining till the rain comes down.
The rain will come from the vast black,
In the the form of precipitation tacks,
Bounce and drop down canopies
Trickling down the shadowed trees.
An electric bolt lights the sky,
Chased by thunder through the night,
Wild sparks from clouds ignite,
To make the stormy shadow bright.
The rain pours down in sheets of drops,
Drizzling down from soaked rooftops,
Spitting into empty pots,
Streaming down on roads and lots.
