A storm is brewing.

The lightning sends
quick, electric flashes
of sharp wit
that strike to the core.

The stormclouds roil.
Off in the distance,
the thunder grumbles.

Soon, it will rumble,
then roar,
and the lightning
will flash a retort,
and send silent,
searing glares.
The wind will howl
and whip and tug
at the stoic earth.

Then, when they
can't stand it any longer,
the stormclouds will cry
sharp, cold tears.

Eventually, everything
will quiet down.
The thunder will
go back to grumbling,
then muttering,
then silence.
The lightning's glares
will get softer.
The wind will only whisper,
all howled out.

And the stormclouds,
appeased,
will cease to weep.