2nd March 2016 (To a Bird and Vowels, During Storm Jake at 7 AM)

by Brendan Strong

As it bashes at the flashing,
Flailing away – in no way a wind of change,
Excepting the effects on wretched fences.
See the leaves fleeing the breeze in the trees,
Flinging in rings spinning twigs
Right by your eyeline. This sky might try to get bright and dry.
Drops flop, plod on top of bogs and pot
Holes, soaking knolls, going to over-flowing roads
Under thunder become puddles of mud.
You flew through the deluge.

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