The Storm The leaves start to rustle on the tall Aspen tree,

Birds begin to twitter, nervously.

Overhead a canopy of dark, brassy cloud,

Veils the earth in a heavy shroud.

Lightening strikes in blinding flashes,

I count to three and the thunder crashes.

People scurry, but it's too late,

As spots of rain precipitate.

Another flash, another rumble,

Then the rain begins to tumble.

The purple sky excludes the light,

Turning daytime into night.

The strengthening wind now blows with passion,

Driving the rain in a slanting fashion.

Lashing the wailing Aspen tree,

Whose branches bend precariously.

Against my window, raindrops patter,

But here inside it doesn't matter.

Soon the wind and rain will cease,

And once again all will be peace. By Brian Derbyshire,

Ribchester Grove,

Bolton.

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Converted for the new archive on 14 July 2000. Some images and formatting may have been lost in the conversion.