Up on the Storm Wheel

Up on the Storm Wheel
where your tornadoes are
born to the world, peaceful
which they create hazard
and cause to tip over
there's a voice much like
a whisper that says
"burn and burn"

Up on the Storm Wheel
where your rain falls from
to pummel our ground, sacred
and create the grass and
the trees reach up to grasp
with fingery whisp and
tumulus grasp to pull away
and gulp and drink there is
a little voice much like a baby
the says in desperate gasp
"cry and cry"

Up on the Storm Wheel
Where your clouds boast
their power and reach higher
than our eyes try to peer
there is flash and fury
and much to be reckoned
and nevermore to be summoned
our last try or tear or word
there's a little voice
much like a clap of thunder
that says in painful spite
"turn and turn"