The windscreen wipers worked at such a pace,
Large raindrops, heavy, thrown down by the storm,
No distance could you see, all was a blur,
No shape of tree or house, there was no form.
The rage that was emptying all around,
Gave vent to such an angry crashing threat.
A terrifying rumpus did one hear,
But violence had not quite arrived as yet.
Sheer power then ripped the waiting land apart,
Battering all of natures growing things.
Striking like a cobra in the wet grass,
Caring not what all such fierce anger brings.
Best sit tight and then wait for it to ease,
Once the main body of the force is spent.
Jet wash for the car, it now shines anew,
And raindrops again, but with softness sent.
© Ernestine Northover
nice and so much fun to read......enjoyed this very much.... please read my poems and leave your opinion
I love the way you vividly describe these scenes of nature. Your decision to give no regular rhyme shows how unplanned but interesting the scenes are. Great effort for this one!
This wonderful poem reflects that reality around us. Thanks.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
striking like a cobra! what a wonderful imagery you have talent enrnestine!