Tony DeLorger © 2016
The deluge of a chilled affront,
hammers ground and bow,
while grey oppressive clouds resound,
in clattered rumbling,
as flashing lights abound.
And water surges through trails new etched,
silt and stones and leaves so tossed,
as whirling pours of flotsam drain,
from street and path and fields of rain,
Droplets thunder like drummers roll,
incessant din and winds that roar,
while green and stem do flail in dismay,
blown around in winter’s play.
And grasses flow like stormy seas,
battered hard in watery weight lament,
and living things in quiet warm nooks,
just watch the harsh affray, mistook,
for perhaps the end of days.
While still the rain in fervent flow,
floods the earth and all upon,
with winter’s need to soak and chill,
for all below to know the sun is ill,
and season holds the key.
I know not when she will release us,
when the sun will adorn those reminiscent skies,
but here amid this brutal resolve,
I pray that light will somehow absolve
our sins, for this our wintry night.