Amidst the storm, the hell on nigh,
The wicked blasphemy is on the fly.
The black clouds carry on their blowing
Behind the devil’s doors the showing.
The hub of evil tempers is swirling
Afore the rampage tires from the churning.
The florid sunsets rise and come aglow.
The lofted galleries line up in a row
As a visual apology for the tempest’s rage.
The laws of Mother Nature are obeyed
As the storm comes to its end
And the sky and all the radiant colors blend.