A ring, a reverberation, a vibration, a brash ration,
A racing rate of rain rallying, rambling, rumbling by my window;
Wind, winding up and releasing its realms of rafted wrangling glory;
Thunder, with Thanatos, thick in Icarus’ wings,
Breaking borrowed thought from ceaseless souls;
Lightning, light lining on the night sky,
Flying high, defying my mind’s eye,
Bringing beauty with malicious mortality.
And I stand safely inside, sorrowful as I stare
At a poor torn tree, its trunk ripped from its roots,
Lying, life dying, slowly seeping, as I keep weeping,
And the rain plainly pouring, swaying, swinging with the woeless wind.