The Storm Poem

Pitter-patter raindrops scatter,
Over hills and plains.
Little children play in the street,
Even though their mothers are very discreet.

Then I look out my window and stare,
Because the thunderclouds say beware.
Then the thunder claps his hands,
But not everyone is one of his fans.
Now the rain beats down,
All over the ground.

Finally it is over,
But when I give the land one look over.
It occurs to me,
That storms are one of natures very nice things.