Where was that storm born?
In the west mountains before moving on,
rolling on it’s thunder,
with lightening strikes causing wonder,
and fear when striking too close for comfort.

Why did it break that tree,
why couldn’t just blow by and let it be?
I knew it when I hear the crack,
it had struck the old big tree out back
that had stood so long there old and bent.

Where did that storm go?
Leaving a disarrayed calm after such a blow,
houses huddle dark and still,
powerless outside the people now spill,
to see the hand of nature that came and went.