Wind blows and rain falls from the sky,
Thunder crashes by and by.
The trees bend as it draws near,
As if recoiling in great fear.
Floods form of drops of rain,
Each gust of wind’s a hurricane.
But when the skies are clear once more,
The sun will rise beyond the storm.
Reflecting off the beaded drops,
Clinging to the grass blade’s tops.
Golden in the misty sun,
Puddles form where waters run.
But the most beautiful thing of all,
Is a flower standing tall,
Water dripping from it’s top,
It grew in the storm, and now the storm’s stopped.