When shocking blod doth cease to flow
through house, through town, for storm,
the silence is the sweetest sound,
the best exchange for norm.
The light turns out, the screen doth flicker,
the clock stops still in time.
The storm doth rage, the wind a-howling,
the sun sets with weakened shine.
You huddle close for fear of dark,
a candle for a view,
the best is seeing family about,
across the light from you.
Strangers, neighbors, all from else
ask for help and do receive.
The TV gone, we see them all
and quickly pack to leave.
When shocking blood returns to flow
through home, through town, for norm,
humanity's back to fickle wants;
I wish for one more storm.