THUNDERSTORMS

My mind has thunderstorms,
That brood for heavy hours;
Until they rain me words,
My words are drooping flowers
And sulking, silent birds.

Yet come, dark thunderstorms,
And brood your heavy hours;
For when you rain me words,
My thoughts are dancing flowers
And joyful singing birds.

W. H. Davies from This Singing World (Junior Edition) collected and edited by Louis Untermeyer, 1923