Oh mighty storm that rages on above,
A flash of light, a crack of sound you give
With rods of iron in a velvet glove.
The noise and sight they mean that you still live.
You pelt us, rocks of ice that sting and slice.
They fall like crystal tears that wound the low
Attackers. You now make them pay the price.
Your rage, it spins the wind. Tornadoes blow.
You leave a path of vast destruction here.
Destroying houses which mistreat your mom,
Of nature, but untouched are those who hear
And heed her words. Those are all left quite calm.
And after you are burned out – silence, peace
That reigns her over all when winds do cease.
Poetry 101: Apostrophe and Landscape