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Listening for Thunder

By John I. Blair

Late April night in Texas,
Two a.m.; I cannot sleep.

Pale leaves, soft as skin,
Shiver in the breeze.

Small birds hold their breath,
Frightened at the restless air,

And in a tossing treetop
A squirrel chitters in its nest.

The moon dims;
Stars disappear.

Half invisible
The faintest flash of light

Tells tempest comes,
Gale, rain, hail;

And all that we can do
Is wait.

2009 John I. Blair


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