The Poison Berry bush rides in the wind.
The ancient Willow groans for passing rains.
Little streams flow roughly in the bend,
Speeding with the added water. A train—
Washing away the past’s only mistakes.
The animals running through the puddles.
The storm over now and they’re taking breaks.
The clouds, broken and empty, are subtle.
Walking through the dead, dirty leaves are men,
Assessing damages from the slight floods.
Trees have uprooted and they now look bent.
The remaining flowers now show their buds.
The storm is past, the forest thrives once more.
The leftover water rides to the shore.
