The storm is brewing, I feel its glare
In the words unsaid, in your stony stare.
A hush descends, a quiet brood
That penetrates my stormy mood.
Unnatural calm, in stillness thick,
Lies heavily, as nits we pick.
Unsettled, each mind changes pace,
Recants, and brews, and can’t save face.
Oh, for torrents wild and wet,
Appeasing stormy weather’s threat!