Late April night in Texas,
Two a.m.; I cannot sleep.
Pale leaves, soft as skin,
Shiver in the breeze.
Small birds hold their breath,
Frightened at the restless air,
And in a tossing treetop
A squirrel chitters in its nest.
The moon dims;
Stars disappear.
Half invisible
The faintest flash of light
Tells tempest comes,
Gale, rain, hail;
And all that we can do
Is wait.
©2009 John I. Blair
