Frigid spring air,
Rolling dark clouds against an azure sky,
Pink blossoms fall like a gentle snow,
Onto bright green grass.
A Robin stands in the distance,
Redbreast glistening in the fading sun,
Worm hanging from his mouth,
As the wind picks up,
He heads for cover.
The rain begins with a sprinkle,
Building to a thundering roar,
As if someone opened the floodgates of heaven,
A bolt of lightning dances across the sky in the distance,
Like a dangerous ballerina pirouetting across a tempestuous sky.
Tree branches clatter in the raging winds,
Virgin leaves and pink blossoms,
Are scattered across the landscape.
Then, as swiftly as a hawk gliding across the heavens,
The torrent of rain begins to slow,
Dark gray clouds begin to roll out,
The wind returns to a gentler pace,
And the storm is gone.
That warm spring sun breaks through,
The sky clears, and the blossoms dazzle in the sun,
The Robin then hops out of his hiding place,
In search of another worm,
And nature’s joyful spring work carries on.
