Storm Scene - Poem by Rod Morris
Man has the power to feed himself to keep him dry and warm.
Many fail Mother Nature's test when confronted by a storm.
Foam flecked rollers standing tall searching for the shore.
In agitated agony they hurl themselves upon its rocky maw.
Rain-laden clouds scud by; they deluge land and darken sky.
Rivers back up in fright as neap tides rise show their might.
Froth as white as clotted cream, flotsam on the shift.
Ozone smell in the air, the dance of spent spindrift.
Gulls and gannets ride airwaves, scan the sea below.
Seaweed resting on the beach reclaimed by undertow.
Sand whipped up by the wind stings like angry bees.
Many storms of many years sculpture cliffs and trees.
Knowing time can heal all things, storms give up the ghost.
Wind subsides the clouds roll by the sun is now our host.
Enjoy the light the warmth, we now have been blessed.
Until next time, a gale or storm shall put us to the test.
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