Sonnet #2

Jennifer Paige©1998

Enter the winds—

In headlong gusts they race

Over the plains to the East

To bend unaware sage backwards

Covered with a sheet of dust,

To plow the sky and make way

            For artificial night

Upon the thick curtain of

A thousand thunderheads condensed,

Concentrated into one massive

Ball of thunder and lightning

Which looms like a god on the horizon

Growling through the whole sky

Awaiting its cue to begin…

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