Portents on the Prowl
Thunder rumbles
rain drums
lightening tears the fabric of this early hour
dawn is rent and tattered
early morning loud with mutters and dark grumblings
streetlights glaze the roads
sullen shadows stay
scant welcome for the day
only later, will daylight creep
and dare the ‘tween time to be on her way
For now, the ancient gods are loose among us
all our doings suddenly small
our spaces, confined and cramped
while they, range freely
making the world strange
by their arrival
