The Promise

BY CAROLE NICHOLS


The air is heavy, heated and sultry,
It presses ominous upon the skin;
In the distance the sound of muted drums,
The world's waiting for something to begin.

Across the heavens, a dark wave cometh,
Closer and closer, low to the ground;
All nature grows quiet in anticipation,
Eyes on the hand of God coming down.


Leaves grow still as the sun drowns,
In the boiling blackness of the sky;
Birds flee home and cover their young,
The first drop falls, the earth gives a sigh.


Then lightning pierces straight and true,
Thunder follows, shaking the ground;
The rain comes down in a stinging flood,
Wind rips the trees with a terrible sound.


The flowers are beaten, whipped and torn,
Limbs are tossed by the tempest which blows;
There's a wild beauty in the untamed fury,
For in destruction, sweet renewal flows.


In the aftermath, there's a startling freshness,
And you draw a deep breath of fragrant air;
Nature shakes herself off and stands once more,
To reach for the rainbow waiting there.


The same Great Hand that sends the storm,
Has placed His promise for all to see;
Never will He destroy His world again,
The world may change, but it will always be.