The Thundering, Grey Buffalo

"the experience of a storm approaching"

The Great Buffalo shake the sky above me,

in rising, rolling clouds of angry grey, they race across the plains

the distant veil of rain slowly takes back this land,

nearer, nearer, the thundering herd comes nearer.


The air I breathe, it freshens with an almost ghastly frost,

as if the world I just knew is in full retreat,

fleeing the darkening grey that looms before me,

as the thundering herd comes nearer, nearer.


The buffalo they fill the sky with misty smoke,

they rage among themselves, angry bulls in fits of power,

their eyes shoot arrows of jagged fire,

they threaten me with a growing power so much more than me,

this thundering herd, nearer, nearer, nearer.


The sunlight that once sparkled in golden, mellow yellows,

now becomes a darkening, half-night world,

the trees, they bend in fearful reverence,

the birds, they flee its whetted wrath,

the thundering herd crashes down on me,

and I remember once more,

that I am merely human.

The End

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