Day 5 — The Storm
There is fear in the flood, and though we perceive
strobe and drum roll, shelter relieves.
Remember with fondness, days in the sun.
They do come again, when Summer’s begun.
Some small existences cannot understand,
this is not all, so hold my hand.
Be at peace, little one, every storm does pass,
this, and the next, until you see at last,
Vaulting blue skies, and white sky cotton.
Butterflies flutter by, until you’ve quite forgotten
the darkness of winter, the thrill of a storm,
and the loving teachers, who kept you safe and warm.
Day 6 — After the Storm
Distant wispy clouds scud patiently,
full of bluster and fluff.
Their linings are not always silver,
but sometimes gold, or simple blue.
The dark rolls in, a threat of yesterday’s repeat —
itself an exercise in glory, in courage,
Today, though, is more sun than shadow,
more vapor veil than pelting hail.
Jape and laugh, point and shout.
There goes an airplane! All is right again.