all day the weather men play at meteorology
it is about the science of change, a morphology,
where weather patterns are now living
things and their habits are hard at clue giving,
the rain drops that are fired from cannons aimed at Earth,
make the sound of soldiers charging for everything its worth,

Peace,

after the storm as night falls with thunder
and lightning flashes, steals and plunders
the shadows that ,soaked the trees, fell in pieces they dove from the sky
and those loudest of wet pellets that pop, and ricochet off metal stovepipe
chimneys,

and the wind lashes out and drags wet fingers on every window pane
and why, why
do I now crave the sound of popcorn hoping the melted butter will keep me sane!