Then There Are Words

Then There Are Words.

By: Tracey Criswell Wilson


The raindrops prance against my windowpane,
as the dismal clouds gather above my head.
How intrinsic that it should storm today,
as my peaceful feeling has left me astray.
I listen to the thunder roll in the distance,
I wonder does my tempest withdraw with it?
As I sit in my commodious solitude,
I'm complaisant with the reflections in my head.
As I try to accredit my thoughts diligently into writing,
I bring pen down to my reputable paper.
The sun peeks out as the rain subsides,
a bird calls his concordant greeting.
And in concordance with the bird's song,
flow my words of poetry with competence.