Thunderstorms

Witches on broomsticks,
the cauldrons used to stir.
Used to be, you could tell the truth
by just the way, things were.
But, now, the magic's everywhere,
good, bad, in between.

Witches are bewitching,
Wizards quick and mean!
Moon glow on the mountain,
the Sorcerer knows his spell.
The stars have come to know them all,
Ah! but, they never, ever, tell.

When lightening flashes,
across angry skies,
and thunder roars above.
It's all apart of the where's, 
and whys
and the sweet what fors of love.
The aftermath, 
the confusion,
of what we think we see,
And what we can't, 
and what is - or was, 
and may now, never be!

September 1, 1981

By
Lady Lamythica

By Lady LaMythica, Linda A. Copp © All rights reserved World Wide
including but not limited to 1970-2014