Naked on Cashmere

“Thunderstorms” by W. H. Davies My mind has thunderstorms,That brood for heavy hours:Until they rain me words,My thoughts are drooping flowersAnd sulking, silent birds. Yet come, dark thunderstorms,And brood your heavy hours;For when you rain me words,My thoughts are dancing flowersAnd joyful singing birds.  xx Atticus@atticuspoetry www.atticuspoetry.com