Tell me the wind is but a whimper—
Low the flame that leaps the grates;
Tell me the lightening’s but a simple
Evidence of starlit fate.
On the rooftop beats the rain,
Bend my ear
Far from fear
And tell me spring will come again.
Tell me the grass will green as pure—
Not from fear the lambs are bleating;
Tell me the sun will shine as sure—
Not from the darkness sleeting.
Thunder breaks beyond the door,
Hold me tight
Far from night
And tell me we will love once more.
By Barbara Shook