Your mother was a farmer's Temperance

Your father was named for the highest of angels

And you were the fourth of ten ear-ringing squalls

That pierced the ancient unsettled air around them

Raising clouds of red clay dust in your wake

I wonder if you were a living storm

Your given name implies that you were a maelstrom

Unyielding and merciless as lightning strikes

And wildly unpredictably dark as a thunderhead

Turning streams into raging floods without hesitation

Did that same celestial fire that lit the marrow of your bones

Crackling and sparking in your veins of live wires

Find its way to me a century and a half later

Seven generations down the line on my mother's mother's side

How much of your soul survived within us after your body ceased to

We'll never truly know each other I suppose

Unless you await me on the other side of the gale

In calmer seas along golden sunny shores

When I pass that way perhaps I will ask for you

So you can tell me what it was like to be called Tempestia