Storm

Did the white lightening strikes, alarm you?
Was the Thunders plowing, too deep?
Breaking, near to the sound barrier

And bleaching, the wool, of our Black Sheep.
The pasture laid down, with burned edges
The water piled, in puddles, near to town
But the storms ravaging fever

Would not, in any way, come down.
Nothing to do to appease it
But perhaps, caress its weary brow
Biding our time 'til it's full recovery