Friday, July 22, 2016



I grew up with thunder
Boyhood storms with claps and flashes
Warm summer squalls and autumn tempests
Charmed by the pelting cadence
Then the flare and counting, one, two, three
A jolt of cannon fire,
Shaking glass, cracking trees
Then silence in the rainy land
To which I moved years ago
Where thunder is seldom heard
But for this morning
Five o'clock, the rush of rain outside
And surprisingly the welcome sound
Of thunder.

© JULY 22, 2016

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