An afternoon and the nimbus were impatient.
And there was non of that humble gentle breeze.
By the soaking window,
I think I saw you gazing through a crowd of fog.
A little shiver and the leaves left the branches.
From meandering rills to screaming gales: it was dreadful,
But you stared deep into the eyes of lighting.
I think you were in a reverie;
I think you were dreaming.
I think you were bold.
A poem by Tonny Wandella