The Storm

I’ve always loved poetry, and I’ve always loved a good thunderstorm.  We finally had one here at my barnyard this week, and it was spectacular!

Today I opened up a book of poetry and found my prize winning poem tucked inside.  I remember writing it in the 8th grade, and I’ve always cherished the special book I was given for my reward.  How nice to read the inscription just now from the English teachers at PJHS, dated 1977.  I can picture Ms. Dyke handing the book to me on that stage in the old gym.

Well, here’s my little poem…


The Storm

The clouds are hanging low in the sky

As the endless breeze floats gently by

The thunder beckons, the lightning calls

Cloud heavy now, the moisture falls


As each large drop hits the ground

It makes a steady, lovely sound

The thunder rolls, the lightning crashes

The rain now comes in tremendous lashes


The sky has turned a ghostly green

Now no sunlight can be seen

Upon the ground is a very loud drumming

And with the rain, the hail starts coming


But now the drumming is a gentle tapping

The sun can be seen, for the clouds are gapping

Gradually now, the rain has diminished

And I am sad, for the storm is finished


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