'Storm'
Snuggled up in her bed
The little girl screams in uncertainty and torture
Openly she lies under her warm
Roasty blankets until she wakes in the
Morning to find the storm was all just a dream
Short and meaningful... have to be preapared you might be caught unaware Storms may come without a signal at His hand Games He play We are the rook On the board He made
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Cleverly penned piece.....we never do know, do we...nice job