Storm By Steven Boyd Weaver

Her doom written, soon to meet... The sands are pulled, from beneath her feet... Her arms uplifted, high and strong... Dance in the wind, as to a song... If you listen, you will hear... The song played through her fingers fear... But listen closely, a cry hold fast... For this too, soon shall pass... Now as she leans, footing lost... She slips away, the battles cost... For the dance, is not a dance at all... But a struggle for life, in it's call... For this tree, at edge of shore... Is pulled by frigid water no more... And this song, driven by wind... Has now played to it's bitter end