The storm is like a wild wolf,
untamed and free,
howling to the night sky,
running round throughout the day,
never stopping never pausing,
hunting for its prey,
unpredictably striking,
on the week feeble and scared.
But everything must come to rest,
and slowly he stops howling,
slowly he stops running,
his hunting striking days are gone,
he rests his head upon his paws,
and settles down to sleep.
No comments:
Post a Comment