Rolling clouds bound across the sky,
lightning dances in that darkening harbinger.
We glance to the sky like so many before us,
just another day in Nebraska.
Wind whips across fields of grain,
bending them to natures domination.
Windmills creak and groan,
spinning ponderously in protest.
Darker and darker clouds form above,
sending a bright noonday sun into hiding.
Swirling like a whirlpool and just as deadly,
the twister touches ground.
Erratic patterns of death and destruction mark its path,
nature showing that nothing is off limits.
Vanishing as fast as it formed,
it falls apart as the clouds burst open.
Brilliant sunlight floods the fields,
lighting the path the twister has made.
Houses needing to be rebuilt and fields replanted,
just another sad day in Nebraska.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Beautiful poem, I can picture natures beauty and power, and it's destructive forces on the Nebraska landscape. Then the bright sunlight shines through once again, and a new day begins.