Forgotten leaves of golden brown
distant trees of wind and mist
not harming anyone, but playing
the old game of run and hide.

Across the measurable blue plain
flew them orange clouds
anvil held high, the colour of fire
awaiting the hammer to fall.

They came closer, darker behind
Father coaxed, be a man 'n never mind
the fear before me, which would pass overhead
I felt in moments, I'd soon be dead.


That small space, where torrents fell
trying to drown my memory
strike and roar, from dusk until dawn
the voice of nature, bellows Her song.

For all to hear, and all to fear
what might be played next
to those listening, all around
Her voice reigns over sea, sky and ground.