By James H. English
Light can shine though black clouds hang and threaten,
And wicked wind beat and bruise and sting our flesh,
And lightening pierce the earth with brilliant anger.
The sky may mourn and weep in its steel grey linen,
But still its tears give life to the bleak and dead
Soil upon which they so glumly come to settle and rest.
Oh, how the world is cleansed after the passing storm,
And how fresh the calming, comforting, motherly breeze,
And of its fury naught remains to remind,
Save for a few lonely scars where the lightning pierced the earth.