by Mary E Cody
running from wind
in a panic,
eager to escape.
Gathering their courage,
forming anvil shaped
towards the gods
to spare them.
Bolts of lightning
rain down on the earth,
spearing the wind’s breast.
With roar s of thunderous agony,
bleeding watery tears,
The wind dies.
© 2006 Mary E Cody
Mary Cody has been writing poetry and short stories
two years while taking part in a local Writers Group hosted at her
library in Guilderland, NY. She is retired from two career paths, the
first as an Electrical Engineer and the second as a Doctor of Clinical
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