The Storm
by Dag Drahmr
The wind moves through the trees,
where it comes from no one knows,
where it goes no one sees,
but there it is shaking the limbs.
Distant sounds of thunder,
crawls across the heavens.
The smell of moister fill the air,
cries of the birds are now silent,
a feeling of awe prowles the woods.
A pale white mist,
mutes the shades of green,
and browns of the world.
Trees whip frantic
as the storm rolls in.
Here comes the rain,
Small drops dance on the patio,
like tiny devils reaching towards the sky!
by Dag Drahmr
The wind moves through the trees,
where it comes from no one knows,
where it goes no one sees,
but there it is shaking the limbs.
Distant sounds of thunder,
crawls across the heavens.
The smell of moister fill the air,
cries of the birds are now silent,
a feeling of awe prowles the woods.
A pale white mist,
mutes the shades of green,
and browns of the world.
Trees whip frantic
as the storm rolls in.
Here comes the rain,
Small drops dance on the patio,
like tiny devils reaching towards the sky!