Witch's Poison Poem by Clara Potter Soloman

A storm brews
like a witch's poison.
It travels to us
like an uninvited, unwanted visitor.

The thunder claps loudly,
like fans in a football stadium.
The wind thrashes and writhes
as if in pain realsing no mercy on objects in its path.

The trees bow down to the wind,
like a queen's subjects.
The water frolics
and licks violently at the coast.

The lightening strikes
and a bright, defiant flame erupts.
The house shudders,
like a child woken by a nightmare.

The witch's poison
is now finished brewing,
and the fans of footcall
are all safe in bed.

The trees
have regained their freedom,
and the wind's pain
has been soothed.

The water
is calm again,
and the flame
has been extiguished.

The house is still and quiet.