I’ve already written a piece called Woolly Lightning, but whilst I was trying to think of a title for this new piece, W.L just seemed to fit it, more so than the other W.L, which I’ll probably have to change now…
Clutching at my window for dear life,
Each splattered patch of rain dribbles to death,
Before the cycle repeats itself all over again,
And all over my window.
Behind every morphing drop,
The bitter wind blends the trees together,
Their attempts to swing free wrecked.
Stout, spiteful clouds brood mutely,
Lightning twitching richly within.
All illuminated by my bedside light’s mellow glow,
Itself turned hazy by my steamy tea.
The tea-steamed window,
And each plump plop,
Make the lightning go all woolly,
Such a snugly sight.
A bolt makes a leap for the trees,
Sending a swirling branch toward the
Splintering smashes abound,
Shards of glass decorate my room,
While the log of a branch
Snuggles into my bed.
Lighting strikes its spasms through
My shattered window, a shocking sight!
The rain catches my face and won’t let go.
The bedside light pales by comparison,
And so do I.
Fast blasts dance and dart away,
Each crackling dazzle finer than the last.
But the clouds fade to blue
And the lightning jogs on,
Leaving my still-rain-stricken expression
Lovingly bundled around my branch,
Clutching for dear life.