The Lull in the Air
After the storm, in the fury’s wake,
When the wind is an innocent breeze,
It barely can muster a half-hearted shake
Through what remains of the trees,
But knows its debris demonstrates
Where a mighty chaos strode –
In toppled fences, shattered slates,
And a litter of twigs in the road.
After the storm, in the cyclone’s calm,
When the wind is feeble and spent,
It sheepishly strokes us, meaning no harm,
As it whispers its way through the vent.
But the proof of its debauched revelry
Is strewn from the park to the square –
And it’s secretly proud of its devilry
As it gently ruffles our hair.
Rhyming Couplets 