Thunderstorm Poem by Linda Harnett

It’s Saturday night,
And it’s raining,
Wind battering,
The windows,
And doors,
The old dog,
Is beat,
And he’s sleeping,
I listen,
As he, gently snores.

He’s lost in his own,
Doggy heaven,
His breathing is deep,
Without care,
I wonder now,
What he is thinking,
And of love,
Is he ever aware?

The flame from the fire,
Dances upwards,
So sensual,
In it’s ascent,
The old dog,
Asleep in the corner,
Unaware,
Where his old master went.

He wakes with a start,
At the thunder,
And buries his head,
On my lap,
He’s looking to me.
For protection,
We embrace,
The next thunderclap.

It’s Saturday night,
And it’s raining,
The old dog and me,
Trusted friends,
I soothe him,
As much as I can now,
And we wait,
Till the thunderstorm ends.