Like its already night,
as if the end of the day is nigh,
breaking forth the wind,
sweeping away all in its way,
from front and behind,
Carrying along all that has been dumped,
like they really matter.
The birds increase thier speed,
flapping thier wings a little more faster,
quickening thier movement to a safe habour,
a place to hide,
a refuge so strong to keep them warm,
a solace so rigid not to fall,
though they know no haven can be dwelled in forever,
they clutch thier digits round the tree,
like they’ll stay there ever.
The sky is no more blue,
the start of the rain is due,
and everything seems so new,
it looks duskly,
and everything dimly.
The thunder smirks at all like an
hungry lion devouring its prey.
This reminds me of an old story,
that has been in history,
even before I was three…….