lightning and thunder tantrum
I muse in the pour, Mississippi up
impish children scream like they are being held for ransom
I allow the rain to fill my soul’s cup
What many see as nature’s wrath
I see as an artist’s patient craft
A bow strikes a cello in the clouds
Thunder her mellow vibration resounds
It takes me back to a younger time
when the scourge of thunderstorms shriveled even my mind
when my grandmother’s words did inspire
a gaze of wonder
that made thunder
seem meek heavenly not at a dire
Westwood
12