Beneath the Brooding Skies

Beneath the brooding skies so vast, A storm is brewing, fierce and fast. The earth stands still, a breath held tight, As shadows birth the tempest’s might.

The green field bends, yet does not break, Awaiting thunder’s roar to wake. A dance of chaos, wind and rain, Nature’s power, raw, unchained.

In the distance, a fleeting glow, Hope flickers where the wild winds blow. For every storm must reach its end, And peace will find the fields again.