Thomas Vaughan Jones
The sun shines down, the morning's fair,
till clouds come scudding by.
A whisper in the morning air,
a darkening in the sky.
The trees dance low and bow their heads
in supplicating plea,
and cattle take defensive stance
to bend the humble knee.
The wind beats air waves in the grass
and sweeps the dust in town.
The rain draws patterns on the glass
and cuts the flowers down.
Now lightning flash and thunderous roar
brings terror from the skies,
as Nature opens wide her maw
in demonic disguise.
The skies are black as darkest night,
while demons ride the gale.
Each flashing roar brings endless fright
and hearts and courage fail.
The storm is raging overhead,
while hurling Nature's blast.
and trembling creatures lie abed
until the rage is past.
When winds die down and skies are clear,
the air feels fresh and clean.
Earth wipes away the final tear,
and garbs afresh in green.
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Comments about this poem (Harbingers by Thomas Vaughan Jones )
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