Hail stones of white crooked shapes...
Inbed into car painted metal inflicting dented scrapes.
Fast strewn to ground at an angle...
Forced by winds landing hard to a rolling engrossed tangle.
From houses roof eaves they roll to dangle...
Fast melting and losing their shapes.
Pelted to Earth at forced so hard...
Splintering wooden window trim of housing's to a wooden
hanging shard.
Sprinkled to ground and paved streets like through a salt shaker's holes...
Inbreeding to earth's dirt rich ground like a moth infested screen
of holes of moles.
Car lot hail damaged sales will arrive in spring...
Cheaper prices will these Mother Nature's dandruff drops to bring.
Clouds over head pass in colors of gray...
No more downpour given this day.
Sunny rays peek out from behind last traces of a lone lost cloud...
No more metal hitting rebounds all echoing sounds so loud.
Birds in trees now proudly sing...
Much more days of fair weathered spring.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem