Sitting in solitude with nothing but nature for company,
One realizes exactly how beautiful the mother’s symphony,
Flashes of lightning scatter through,
And tickle every plump cumulonimbus cloud they go to,
Deep rumblings of laughter soon echo,
As if a baby playing peek-a-boo,
The pitter-patter of a million rain drops crashing,
Turns the ground into a giant drum constantly bashing,
The wind directing the massive concerto,
Moving and pushing the music literally, where the wind blows,
Resting on an old squeaky rocking chair,
I close my eyes and wish, you were here.