Tornado by Ana Maria King

The sky is a green stagnant swamp.

The marching thunder approaches,

More rapidly with every peal.

Dawns light tries to infiltrate,

But it is muted by the oppression ,

Of the vault of steel clad clouds.

The oak limbs are roating in the gusts.

Then an eerie quiet mutes all but drips.

The wind is inhaling ,filling its vast lungs.

And when it exhales the house bricks tremble.

Debri is lifted and used to ram the walls,

The roof vibrates and we pray without ceasing.

The great thud and small earth quake,

Are from thick oak limbs .

I hear a whoosh like the brush of wings.

A tree limb has landed on my car,

But the car is not damaged, 

It came to rest upon  the roof without crushing it.

The roar of the speeding freight train approaches.

We head for the bathtubs with some pillows.

We feel the pressure dropping as our ears pop.

Praying without ceasing we take cover.

Torrents of rushing rain follow.

Then it begins to slow down.

Wait I hear a bird calling !

We leave our makeshift shelter.

And go outside to help our neighbors ,

Clear debri.

We  all are thankful.

 

 

 

 

 

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