Blown by the wind

The shuddering grass

Rocks with its kin

Like a turbulent mass

 

Limbs wave about

Victims of the gale

And without a doubt

Some may not prevail

 

The air in its whipping

Has no sense of goodwill

the limbs lose their gripping

Their fate now fulfilled

 

The clouds swiftly race

Across the drab sky

Hopefully chased

By a future more dry