The Storm

A Storm approaches.
          I sense her,
                    though she is still far.
        Her warning melody invades my core,
                  seeping…
                            creeping…
                                      surreptitious
                                 into my essence.
        “I am coming for you…”
she croons.

Many Storms have I weathered,
        too many to number.
                    She is different,
                          this one.
                                    Her furry burns,
                                                an icy flame…
                  salted with the exotic aromas
of lands beyond my understanding.


I am old,
          eldest of my Brethren.
The change of many seasons
            have I endured.
My Brothers whisper
                  in awe
                  and envy…
                  over my stature.
      I wear time upon the twists of my body
                  proudly for them…
                  to inspire them.
It is my purpose,
                  my gift…
                   to protect those of my realm,
a silent sentry.


Children of the Sky,
        Daughters of the Forest,
                find safe haven
                within my loving sanctuary…
        ever present in their need.
Endless number the sons of Man
          who have sheltered within my shadow.
I have guarded them
            since first they appeared
lost and alone
            to these shores.

Upon my welcoming arms
                    have they frolicked…
                            exultant in youthful adventure,
            their stories scratched upon my secret places.
Upon my faithful arms
                        have they whispered sweet professions…
                                awakening in the promise of joy,
            their covenant proudly etched upon my body.
Upon my enduring arms
                        have they passed judgement…
                                  extinguishing the light of the wicked,
            their careless scars upon my limbs.



The Storm beckons.
         She is impatient,
                  drawing ever near.
        Unwilling participant in her waltz am I,
                 swaying…
                             swirling…
                                           helpless
                     in her tempest embrace.
      “I am here, my love,”
she shouts in triumph.

I bend to her desire,
         never have I seen her equal.
                   She is my mate,
                             this one.
                                       Her deadly passion,
                                                 a blazing icicle…
                   a cunning dagger to my heart
splits me asunder.

My time is ended,
         the dance nearly complete.
Finally a match have I met,
         but oh…
                  what a song
                                it was!