Storm Song

From the blue sky, pale but fair,
In the listless humid air,
Swells a distant, slate-gray row,
Angry mountains roll and grow,

Then there comes a low, faint growl,
Breezes grow into a howl,
Shattering, sharp cracks split the air,
A splattering, then a rolling snare,

Roaring, rumbling, crackling sound,
Young trees bending toward the ground,
Bowing to the storm god’s power,
Thirsty roots soak up the shower,

Gradually, the storm winds tire,
Cooler breezes now inspire,
Crisp, clean feelings of rebirth,
As bright clean sunlight bathes the earth