It starts
with a whisper
a rustle of leaves
breathed on by wind,
Scudding clouds arrive
gusts slam
branches protest,
bending pain to grey black clouds.
Tree fingers are broken
falling slain to sodden grass.
Rain knives slash
from overloaded buckets
driving deep into my clothes.
I stand
waiting for a bus,
Cold, excited
loving the whipped movements,
the power,
the storm.

WALT:
To communicate an experience, with descriptive language, so that others can feel they are there.

Success Criteria:

• Others can feel they are there, remember times like this themselves.
• Use commas to set the rhythm of the poem
• Short interesting thoughts, one per line
• Unnecessary and small words cut out.