Impact!

Thunder, Thunder born.  Then killed, strike against the roof.  After strike against the roof, thee die. With the white aggressive nature, thee gone.  A joy, a dream.  You perish people.  It seems like a dream when you stop.

This entry was posted on Tuesday, April 14th, 2009 at 12:59 pmand is filed under Nature poetry - April. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can skip to the end and leave a response. Pinging is currently not allowed.