02/20/24
The River seemed to hang on in the clouds,
for what felt an eternity
The rain danced on the flowers in their bed,
quietly enjoying their beauty sleep
The home now shuttered,
creaked amongst the thunderous sounds
And the wind it whipped and whistled.
In the dead of night, as the small hours slowly crept around
The rain washed down on our roof and windows,
the night would know no rest
And we were here in awe of the storm ,
in all its eloquence
Thomas Michael Pico
Icarus Wave Publishing ©