Lead grey skies enfold like shrouds
To clothe the rain lashed mountain peaks
Birds huddle down with open beaks
Protesting to encroaching clouds.
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I absolutely love this.From the cowering of the birds to the remembrance of the widower, the storm approaches and undulates like a tide, flowing on the ABBA rhyming pattern. Bloody excellent. Danny
I love storms... and your moody poem perfectly demonstrates the damage unleashed when his plan is delivered. Poignantly penned with a sympathetic touch. Enjoyed. HG: -) xx
I like this for the way you manage to relate the physical aspects of the storm back to humanity.