Looking out my window, it is so clear that you are there,
whipping the trees like custard, a tile flying in the air.
birds have flown to outwit you, or hiding in the trees,
hard rain washing windows, though it’s difficult to see.
Who knew a storm was coming, did the weatherman lie,
did you sneak up from nowhere, to take us by surprise.
Bang, and the bin fell over, the garbage is doing a dance
will you be gone by lunchtime, is there the slightest chance?
lizalizaskysaregrey 