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 ©