Saturday, June 22, 2013

STORM'S OVER a poem

Lightning, thunder, rain, don't last.
The misty clouds of morning pass.
God's sun appears
and particolored birds
begin to trill.

The rain-wet grass seems greener now.
The dripping trees, in silence, bow.
Red rosebuds burst
and soft-white doves
take wing to the golden air.

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