Sunday, September 4, 2011

The Perfect Storm

As thunder rumbles through the house,
I heed the counsel of my spouse
And stumble off to lie in bed,
To rest my weary frame and head.

The storm which passes overhead
Ensures I lie awake instead,
Atop the layered bits of foam
Enclosed within a frame of chrome.

The thunder shakes our ancient home,
Which trembles from its base to dome.
I toss aside the sheets and spread,
For any hope of rest has fled.

I ponder on a simple thread
Of verse appearing in my head
About a storm, a bed, a house,
And heeding counsel from a spouse.

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