STORM IN THE VALLEY
A thunderstorm blunders blindly into the valley,
Feeling out the floor with his forked white stick;
Stumbles, grumbling, over the hills and ricks,
Belaboring his path to either side.
Trees bow and blaze before his fumbling stride
And grazing cows amble off in dumb amaze.
The creatures of the field press down and gaze.
Birds flounder, thunder-startled, in the air.
The old mummer wanders on, unaware,
Humming his tune in his cracked old tone.
He walks along his windy path alone,
Murmuring of far lands yet to be.
1982
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