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 Psalm 29 Remembered in a Line Storm, 1967
In Kansas on a summer nightThe wind blows strong on moon bright white.Far off horizon flashes faint,Then oftener with brilliant light.She sits on that old glider. Still.No one beside her, quite alone,The glider squeaks in questioningAnd yet she does not hear it moanAbove the magnitude of night.Some long thin clouds now slice the moon,Grow larger and then cover it,But magnify its glow untilThe silver gray enlarging massEnvelopes the sky. Then quite soonThe glow is gone and all is black.The lid is on the pit. She sits
With nature’s murmers anxiously
 Anticipating, but must wait.
“…Yea over the waves of the darkening tempest…”
 
 
 Fast the lid cracksBringing day to the night.
Everything’s s
een;All is revealedJust for a flash.With a merciful clashAll is concealedIn the black of the night.The rain starts to fall,Not slowly, but fast.The ground is a flood,No dampness or mud.The wind takes the slapAnd rises to arm.It carries the rainAway on its back.Becoming a teamThey drive on together.Wash this black world,Pound and punish it clean.
“…God ruled at the flood – 
 
yea, forever His throne.”
 The thunderous applauseRoll in and then on.Ovation now bursts
In praise of the sky’s
 Spectacular play.A beautiful move,Performance sublime,Magnificent time,Each brought claps for oncore.
“…In thunder the God of all glory draws nigh…”
 
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