Please, please, let there be a storm,
let the fierce winds shake the trees
and scream across the rocky heights,
the mounting violence shape the seas
with sloping greys and foaming whites,
howling round the rooftops, flicking rain,
spattering against the window pane.
And may the storm not peter in the night
but rage around the dark outside
and thump against the soaking walls,
and roar across the valleys wide
with branches breaking in the squalls,
the frightening force felt far and high and deep,
the maelstrom building beyond our gentle sleep.
And when I wake and find the storm has grown,
I will want to fly out in the rain,
enjoy the dim and early light
and race to feel alive again
while thrown about in Nature’s fight.
I shall run and run, heart pounding, to the sea
and face that fearsome wind and feel so free.
Grassy land with monstrous waves each side,
my plinth amidst the seething white,
leaning forward, arms spread wide,
flapping overpowered kite,
blasted back by its appalling might.
I will shout and scream, but my tiny voice be drowned
in the magnificent storm and its searing, awful sound.