The Harvest Of Storms Poem by Romella Kitchens

Red poppies in an overcast field, in India.
Mother nature will come with a basket and collect the
sensual red petals, her feet taking on the
perfume of their scent..
Her face round, giving, the color of honey.
Her feet long, bronze in hue and patient.

The snakes will bow out of her way reverently.

Her long Black braided hair will sway almost to the ground
behind her, ushering on the winds, her sari a scarlet sunset.
Then, the monsoon will come and you and others
near the field will pray
it is not too harsh.

Cows will low their fear.
The windows will be shuttered and there will be prayers.
Many prayers.