Thunderstorms
- M Y mind has thunderstorms,
- That brood for heavy hours:
- Until they rain me words;
- My thoughts are drooping flowers
- And sulking, silent birds.
- Yet come, dark thunderstorms,
- And brood your heavy hours;
- For when you rain me words,
- My thoughts are dancing flowers
- And joyful singing birds.
- W.H. Davies