“Thunderstorms” by W. H. Davies
My mind has thunderstorms,
That brood for heavy hours:
Until they rain me words,
My thoughts are drooping flowers
And sulking, silent birds.
Yet come, dark thunderstorms,
And brood your heavy hours;
For when you rain me words,
My thoughts are dancing flowers
And joyful singing birds.
xx Atticus
**@atticuspoetry **)
www.atticuspoetry.com)
