Past the flames, orange and stilted;
and the moon's light floods the lonely fields.
Something stirs in midnight's silence.
The wind howls and echoes by.
Sweeping the fields and turning grass;
breaking the necks of its bloodied roses.
The naked arms of the birch trees rustle
as the rain lashes and glistens below
until a flash of thunder; silver-white
burns the sky and lights the green.
The emerald shines and its knife blades thrash.
The glass rattles and the fire flickers.
Comments about this poem (The Storm by Ell Ell )
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