| By brian francis When the winds howl and rattle Thunder peeling like a great gong Penetrates, subsonic waves crashing The thin streaks of light branching Race across the sky crackling aloud Creosote breathes its fragrant smell Wafting on the wailing winds swirling Shuddering and shaking the turmoil Undulates into a mighty crescendo The deafening sound of the storm Intensifies as the clouds release The gentle pitter patter so tentative At first swells to become natures roar As the winds drive the waves passing Cleansing the very air with ozone That wonderful scent of after storm Like wafting incense drifting out of This great temple of the gods Copyright © 2022 brian francis |
Wailing Works
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Wordsmith: At The Forge 