Storm 3

The four winds blow, 
Mustering yet more strength
In rallying war cry
Powerful and Strong
Sweeping over bent grass
Combing and creasing the hill
Into ripples of spun icing;
Trees are rocked and spun in
Forceful gyrations prizing
Naked branches apart.
Building and retreating in monumental fashion
Relentless in accomplishment.
Refusing to abate.
All through the night
To the cold blue-grey
And a view.

debris cast asunder
strewn across the green
a lonely battlefield

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