Fiery Visitor

Fiery Visitor 

It's like that neighborhood dog with the deep chest,

the one that startles you from your porch reverie,

your book slipping, forgotten, as you turn to see 

just what ruckus this is about.

It's not that anger is without its charm, right?

It comes dressed in red, uninvited to the party,

a bit too loud, a bit too brash, 

clinking its glass for a toast to upheaval.

Oh, don't worry, it's not the end of the world—

just the sound of its engine revving,

a call to arms for the sleepy, the bystanders,

a potter's wheel spinning fresh forms from old clay.

So, here comes anger, polite as a hurricane,

an unexpected guest at your garden party.

Watch it flip the tables, dance with the trees,

and then, with a bow, exit stage left.

When the show is over, take a look at the sky,

how it clears its throat with newfound blue,

how it nudges us all with a wink and a nudge,

to roll up our sleeves for the tasks that lie ahead.

For this fiery visitor, when it comes knocking,

it's not just barking dogs and clattering trash cans—

it's a red-cheeked prophet preaching better days,

a reminder to stir from slumber and craft a world anew.