When skies begin to darken and to dim,
And the heavens start to growl in haste,
The children run inside and hold to whim
For their fluffy, floating friends are to waste.
Flashes of youths’ fear strike across the gray,
And tears from above mix with those who dread.
Trees wonder if they’ll live another day,
As winds swirl, hurl, and collect whispers dead.
In my eyes, though, winds murmur songs of hope
As skies aloft receive the chance to cry.
For even upset heavens need to cope,
And prepare for new starts that they will try.
Thunderstorms call to me and shout aloud,
“Hold on, your rainbow will come, I have vowed.”