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# System prepended metadata

title: The Storm

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# The Storm
**by John L. Swainston**

The leaves on the old oak dance in the breeze.
The rain left little droplets on them like diamonds.
The path needs to be climbed, hard on the knees.

A dozen more steps, then a sneeze.
Smell of fresh cut grass invades my nostrils.
The leaves on the old oak dance in the breeze.

The cloud cover thickens, rolling with ease.
Thunder, an assault on eardrums, louder and louder.
The path needs to be climbed, hard on the knees.

Nature will reveal her disease
to all brave enough to venture out.
The leaves on the old oak dance in the breeze.

First came the lightning, then thunder molesting the trees,
turning the ominous sky into a rock concert.
The path needs to be climbed, hard on the knees.

Quickening the pace, almost a run!
Cover is critical, the deluge will arrive soon.
The leaves on the old oak dance in the breeze.
The path needs to be climbed, hard on the knees.