Putting My Feet in the Dirt 25

Wind starts howling, thunder rolls

Lightning streaks through cloudy folds

Tiny bits of ice grow larger

Filling the drainpipe lager

Even rain can’t compete

In a race with almost sleet

It’s perpetual pandemonium

Crushing also hazard conium

But pampas grass yields to the storm

And afterwards retains its form.

***

2018/07/01/July-writing-prompts/

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