The blissful eve of Summer’s day,
That none would have another way.
The elders rest quite undisturbed,
And children play yet undeterred.

The looming shadows of the noon,
Betray a peace that ends too soon.
The wise take heed amidst the gloom,
The thunderbird begins to plume.

His cry is more than just a roar,
So high above the cloudy shore.
He brings disaster in his wake,
And hurricanes of his own make.

Do not mistake his dreary gaze,
Or you may lose all in the haze.
So when you hear the distant drums,
Take shelter for the thunder comes.

– J.S.Worth


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