ON NIGHTS LIKE THESE
A gathering night of ashen grey,
no pigeon stirred nor warbler sang.
The tapering skies reached down
and shook the hands of misty hills
as roaming winds announced a storm.
And soon the heavens began to peal
with pounding force of falling rain
and coruscating flashes lit
the distant teeth of granite hills.
And ghostly choruses were heard
where only men of sorrow walk.