The Storm Poem by Octavian Cocos

Clouds are crowding, flying high
Storm is raging strong and cruel
Rain is falling from the sky
Like a fool.

Streaks are flashing all around,
Bright and brisk and very stout,
They are rushing to the ground
And die out.

Thunders roar like guns in night
Spitting fires blue and red,
With the village seem to fight,
Which is scared.

Wind is running wild and free
Blowing all the leaves away,
Knocking down a willow tree
In its way.

It is cold, for hills are near
And it's dark like in a tomb
But it's warm and cosy here
In my room.