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Song of the Storm
I do not know which to prefer,
 A painted sunset
 Or the budding blooms
 The melody of a thunderstorm
 Or the silence just after.
 
 It was twilight all morning.
 It was raining
 And it was going to rain.
 The shadows took over
 While the light struggled to fight back.
 
 I know regal languages
 And beautiful, repetitive songs;
 But I know, too,
 That the thunderstorm is part
 Of what I know.
 
 O gracious men of Worshire,
 Why do you imagine a clear day?
 Do you not hear how the storm
 Weaves its music together,
 Unbroken and unwavering?

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