Does the ripping wind foretell a hurricane,
Thrashing, tearing, leaving destruction in its wake?
The last storm's progeny still creep
About me, surprising in their strength.
Might one of them be that which might lift skyward,
Dropping me into lands of danger and hope.
Thrashing, scanning, soaring, I survey the storm.
1 comment:
Hey Bobby, I like the new look, haven't stopped by in awhile. Come visit me if you have time. Susan
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