The Gathering Storm Poem by Marilyn Shepperson
The Gathering Storm
The birds sense the ominous power
And seek their nests in tree or on cliff
The trees bow their heads, all leaves atrembling
As the wind whips up the white crests
Until the sea is a froth of snow-maned horses
A single sunbeam picks out the island
It stands in stark relief to the grey of the water
While overhead is a building sense of fury
The gathering of storm clouds is over the horizon.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
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4/24/2024 7:03:03 AM # 1.0.0.1119
