© Tristen R. Snelling
Listen to the Poem
The rain beats down on the windowpane,
Lighting streaks the sky.
The black clouds of rolling thunder,
Come from the darkened sky.
I see a branch break off from the tree,
Falling freely at last to the ground.
When I listen closely I hear,
A pitter-patter from the tin roof,
Of our ancient barn.
It smells of crisp clean air,
That’s all around.
The rain diminishing quietly,
From the forgotten town.