A Local Storm - Donald Justice

[Larry Robinson]

A Local Storm   

The first whimper of the storm   
At the back door, wanting in,   
Promised no such brave creature   
As threatens now to perform   
Black rites of the witch Nature   
Publicly on our garden.   

Thrice he hath circled the house   
Murmuring incantations,   
Doing a sort of war dance.   
Does he think to frighten us   
With his so primitive chants   
Or merely try our patience?   

The danger lies, after all,   
In being led to suppose--   
With Lear-- that the wind dragons   
Have been let loose to settle   
Some private grudge of heaven's.   
Still, how nice for our egos.   

	- Donald Justice