As evening falls, they clouds they play
An innocent game high o’er the bay,
The breeze picks up and they faster run
Across the sky, toward our setting sun.
Yea, the wind she livens, and swallows dive,
The bees retire to their sheltering hive,
And early bats sniff out the air,
Then skitter back to a shadowed lair.
And I also rise and pace away
From the gathering storm far ‘cross the bay,
For fast she comes, o’er turbulent waters,
Roiling darker than the Apocalypse’ daughters.
No comments:
Post a Comment