Ink Idle

Mighty roars and virulent thunders,

Restless they patrol the heavens,

Like men who linger to inspect,

They let the minuscule drops drop by.

Only a trifle matter to misty guards

Of the fabled gates of heaven,

Dictates mankind though, as he feels

Beloved tears of those passed us by.

Summer’s woes appeased in a flash,

Winter’s fears rekindled by a bead,

Hearts’ warmth lit ablaze; a smile,

Hope finds another branch to rest on.

Dark and heavy yet a mood somber,

Often doth squirm like a man trapped,

Then speaketh the mighty tempest,

Oratory thus renders creation speechless.

And soon after there is light,

So creation may now shed,

So creation may now resume toil;

And remember of clouds and rain.