To Frighten a Storm

O now you come in rut,

in rank and black desire,

to beat the brush, to lash

the wind with your long hair.

Ha! I am afraid,

exceedingly afraid.

But see? her path goes there,

along the swaying tops

of trees, up to the hills.

Too long she is alone.

Bypass our fields, and mount

your ravages of fire

and rain on higher trails.

You shall have her lying down

upon the smoking mountains.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *