The front porch beckons me to spend some time,
The thickly padded chairs are soft and cool.
As storms roll in there is no doubt that I’m
The one who’ll bear the brunt of ridicule.
For many think this love of thunder’s roll,
And light’nings flash in darkened daytime sky
Is somehow a perversion of my soul,
But makes me ask the simple question – why?
Why should a love of storms be somehow strange?
A lack of fear of thunder’s booming roar.
It’s something that I have no need to change
And therefore something that I will ignore.
So, sitting on the porch in pouring rain
Is something I enjoy I can’t explain.
Adding your comment:
(I'll bet you would have guessed that without my telling you.
) The saddest part is when the rain is just a soft, barely there mist. The most that happens is the rain stains the soil in silence. This is beautiful Paul and with your words you have awakened one of my own pleasures.
