Passing storm

The problem is that things that have no significance
Have overtaken those that have.
My phone bill sits here in front of me
Whilst soft rain falls outside in pashy drops
That shake bright flowers
And sends them trembling,
And small creatures run for cover
While I sit here watching and smiling.

I find my life is made small,
Like a leaf being whirled on a whorl
Of water spiralling down.

But then a warm wind blows through my hair
And thunder rumbles and rain falls
And something of a natural order
Passes by my place.

And in the aftermath
I ask why that felt so different.
So much better.


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