Thunderstorms

My mind has thunderstorms,
— That brood for heavy hours:
Until they rain me words;
— My thoughts are drooping flowers
And sulking, silent birds.

Yet come, dark thunderstorms,
— And brood your heavy hours;
For when you rain me words,
— My thoughts are dancing flowers
And joyful singing birds.
Translation: 
Language: 
Rate this poem: 

Reviews

No reviews yet.