Wings of the Thunderbird

Through mountain peaks and storm-cast skies,
Where dark clouds churn and lightning flies,
The Thunderbird unfolds its wings,
And thunder rolls as silence sings.

Its feathers pulse with cobalt fire,
Its eyes alight with fierce desire;
Each mighty beat commands the storm,
A shadow vast, a giant form.

With wings that span the heavens wide,
It stirs the winds on every side,
Summoning rain from clouds above,
A spirit fierce, yet born of love.

In legends old, they speak its name—
A force untamed, no man can claim;
Protector, guardian of the land,
Its power tied to earth’s own hand.

When drought and dust bring fiery days,
And rivers shrink in sun’s harsh blaze,
The Thunderbird will split the sky
And call the rain with ancient cry.

Through valleys deep and forests tall,
It answers nature’s ancient call,
Bringing life to barren plain,
With thunder, lightning, wind, and rain.

Its cry resounds in booming sound,
As raindrops meet the thirsty ground,
And creatures bow in silent awe
To nature’s might, to ancient law.

For in each clap and lightning flash,
Is found the storm’s eternal clash,
The Thunderbird in all its might,
A being born of storm and light.

Some say it’s only myth and lore,
A tale from times that are no more,
But listen close, and you may hear
Its thunder drum both loud and clear.

It lives in sky, in cloud, in flame,
In rolling hills and rivers’ claim,
A spirit fierce, forever free,
The Thunderbird of sky and sea.