A hush descends before the heavens weep,
a gentle murmur stirs the leaves to set the stage.
The wind whispers, a breath in slumber deep,
like the delicate rustle of a turning page.

It rises slowly, from whisper to roar,
gales surge with desperate fervor, a wild refrain,
like a restless sea thrown upon the shore,
a swelling harmony of wind and leaf and rain.

Teardrops slip and curve where bending boughs lean,
gliding down a trembling blade in quiet sigh,
a fleeting dance upon the emerald green,
before the waiting puddle claims the weeping sky.