The Lady leaves her seat,

Gracefully approaching from afar.

Attention piqued,

She gently descends from her celestial home.


She rides the wind bareback across the skies,

Waving her lightning sceptre.

In one fickle sweep

She throws her purple cloak over land and sea.


The tempest rages!

It is her right!

She flings hail, like pearls from broken string

as she rips it from her neck in a moment’s fury.


An attempt to subdue her

Is like trying to hold the wind in your arms –


She is above you.


But when her anger is spent,

She retires to her den

To end her tirade

In tears across plains.