Big thunder. Pelting, pounding rain.
I think again
of an old fire
leaping higher
as we crowded around it, all,
to sit or sprawl
in family
community.
Outside, both rain and thunder roared,
which we ignored.
That warm safety
floods back to me.
For Poets United's Midweek Motif: Fire
(The form is a minute poem, i.e. 60 syllables, which I found at Poetic Asides too late to use it in the competition there, but I wanted to try it anyway.)
