Storm Center

Mary Naylor  confirmed
Rain is the merry patter of feral cat feet on a roof,

Liquid drops of birdsong suspended in the air,

The staccato spray of ruby from a bullet-wounded deer,

And the fall of tears from her fawn's wide eyes.

The wind is a wolf howling in the black night,

The rush of an owl's wings as he falls on his prey,

The scream of a hurricane as a whale leaps into the air,

And the rustle of a bird's feathers as she shelters her young.

Touch the wind,

Touch the rain,

Touch the heart

Of somethng wild.

Published by Mary Naylor confirmed

I was born in Chicago, Illinois in 1933. I grew up in Rhinelander, Wisconsin, a wild and beautiful state, rich in literature and lore. I loved the stories of Paul Bunyon and his ox, Babe. The hoax of t...  View profile

2 Comments

Post a Comment
  • R.C. Johnson2/13/2010

    Love this piece. Nice to see you back writing -- have been thinking about you of late and wondering if all is well. Beautiful poem!

  • Steven West2/13/2010

    Very stirring and love the imagery.

Displaying Comments

To comment, please sign in to your Yahoo! account, or sign up for a new account.