As the evening rings in, hour after hour,
by the hand-me-down grandfather clock
a thunderstorm, with a crescendo of
blowing rain, splattered loudly on the near windowpane,
the vibrato of the thunderclaps shook the walls.
Being ever prepared for the power to go off
I gathered the matches from atop the mantle
and a new beeswax candle --
at the ready, there I sat by the library
window, watching a dance of electrified
bolts stretch across the blue-black sky.
I have the thought of the sweet smell
of the freshly mown grass
carried on the gusting winds that lay
wet, tamped down by the rush
of rain, forming puddles.
Such a wonderful evening. I so enjoy it!
This early season storm from which
Mother nature provides a grand show.
The thunderstorm, with the dance of
bolts of light, reflecting off the window
as the fresh-cut grass acts like a sponge
to absorb the gift of rain to wet the thirsty
feet of the oak tree.
I strike my match,
setting the candle aflame
and take in the sweet smell
of the beeswax candle.
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| Writing Prompt |
Write a poem of any length or style using these words
Candle
Thunderstorm
Grass
Smell
Tree
Window
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Author Notes
Write a poem of any length or style using these words: Candle, Thunderstorm,
Grass, Smell, Tree and Window
Thank you for the use of your photo by NOAA on Unsplash
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