The first drops of a summer thunderstorm Roll off my battered old trench coat The doors and windows are open to the wind Clearing the black smoke from the air You've been playing with your toys again Building robots from magnets in old TVs The storm builds outside the empty windows As your Frankenstein creation limps Across the workshop's black-tiled floor Your messy hair is wrapped around two pens With curls about your soot-smirched face And it is that face that holds me there In the power-charged pre-storm moment To watch your simple joy in your creation And with the first near-sounding thunderclap I enter the now-cluttered workshop Pulling your creative form close to me Listen to your joyful bubbling words Until your happy chatter fades away And the storm now pounds above us Stripping off our heavy clothes we walk Into the hot-pouring rain of summer Hand in hand through the fierce joy To an open spot between the trees nearby We turn our faces up to feel the power Surging to the ground beneath our feet Laughing the giddy laugh of the free
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This work is Copyright (c) Mike Fletcher 2006