It’s been a stormy week, with Corrie blowing over. But storms have a charm of their own. They make you contemplative, a bit introspective. And apparently, they can also help you write. In this poem, W.H. Davies confesses that his stormy, dark mood isn’t a bad thing. It helps him find the right words, which eventually makes him happy. So maybe, we should try to weather our storms too. Because maybe, we can come out of them a happier person.

My mind has thunderstorms,
That brood for heavy hours:
Until they rain me words,
My thoughts are drooping flowers
And sulking, silent birds.

Yet come, dark thunderstorms,
And brood your heavy hours;
For when you rain me words,
My thoughts are dancing flowers
And joyful singing birds.

W.H. Davies

2 thoughts on “Thunderstorms

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