Sitting still in the shadows,
The lightening strikes,
The people shudder,
The thunder roars,
Such beauty that lies,
Seen by the bravest of eyes,
who walk out the dark,
And look to the sky.
The Windows open,
The soft breeze blows in,
Whispers a little,
Whistles a lot,
We don't mind its trespassing,
But hate the damage it's caused,
We rudely close the windows,
And admire the storm,
enjoying the cold and music,
that mother nature has brought.
No matter how bad we've been,
she shows us her love,
she would block out the sun,
and rock us to sleep,
the love of a mother,
is nature's best gift.
YOU ARE READING
There's method to this madness
PoetryA collection of a few pieces of poetry I've written that I don't mind if you see. A mix of different types of poetry The base image is credited to Tema66 from pixabay. I did add all the lazy effects though
