Thunderstorm Sestina

There is no hiding place, soon there will be a storm,
The wind howls and spins the tops of the trees,
In the distance an eerie creeping thunder,
A sullen sky loses blue and turns my eyes gray,
A sticky sweet fills the air with the smell of rain,
I would run to my father for protection like a child.

And with wonder question ask as if I were a child,
Could I reach up with strength and stop the storm,
Should I retrieve my boots or umbrella for this rain,
This spring time shower to cleanse the trees,
And remove the winter sky with slate gray,
The time is closer between lightning and thunder.

The rumbling rattling the windows low voice of thunder,
Would surely trouble the inquisitive mind of any small child,
She skips and plays as lightening lights up the gray,
And feels the cool wind, there is no escaping the storm,
The whooshing wind slithers between the frightened trees
The small footstep sounds of the first splashes of rain.

This small heart full of more love than the heaviest rain,
Her laugh provides more joy than the loudest thunder,
Everything in the world should be climbed, especially trees,
Innocence will always recognize its place in this child,
Soon all light from the sun will be hidden by this storm,
Leaving what was once beautiful, a dull dark and gray.

Her eyes are diamond blue against the drab gray,
She is the sparkle of the sun in the drop of the rain,
That creates the rainbow promise after the storm,
And ears that are covered with hands to stop the thunder,
This will only be a delay in the playtime for this child,
The weight of the wind slowly tipping over the trees.

Droplets hang like crystals from the leaves of the trees,
Sun rays in green, blue, and orange replace the gray,
A sleepy haze has hushed the wild heart of this child,
As it passes by everything is cleaned by the drenching rain,
Discontent is voiced with every waning grumble of thunder,
Slowly trickling water and softening worry leave with the storm.

The trees are happy to say goodbye to the rain,
So the blue replaces the gray, and no more complaining thunder,
I will always be made into a child by every storm.