Out on the porch at end of day,
hear the thunder, feel the
spray,
Lightning ripples across the
sky.
Sniffing ozone, here sit I
to watch the show.
Know the great power of wind
and cloud.
Hear the thunder, awfully loud.
See the wind blowing things
around.
Watch the hail and hear it
pound
its wicked blows.
Still, it’s pleasant to sit
down here.
Why no elemental fear,
hailstones falling, the size of
dimes,
resting here and crafting
rhymes?
Only God knows.
Copyright ©2020, Paul H. Harder II
This poem is licensed under a Creative Commons
BY-NC-ND 4.0 License.
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