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Summer Storms

Don’t sing me songs of summer storms and sweat
Or of passionate dances in the rain.
Night time thunder makes me yearn to forget
The soft voice murmuring soft love’s refrain.

No soft winds tossing darling buds of May,
Give me robust humbling green giants
Upturning cars, peeling houses in play,
A tossed scatter of wind shredded pennants.

The winds don’t notice our tidy neat lives,
No god rides his lightning bridled steed through
Suburbs to tear husbands from their wives:
We make our own storms, drink our own bleak brew.

A storm is just rain and wind and lightning.
What we do to ourselves is more frightening.