In the country, the trees
Under the weight of the
That is falling in huge drops, under the name cheater,
For it brings a second night.
The sky clears, illuminating the earth for a second,
And then frightens the sleeping
With a great clap of thunder, and like bitter
The drops of rain become noisily mixed with those already fallen.
Nature, frightened, hides under the rustling leaves,
The flowers close under this brutal
And the soaked earth boasts of bearing this squall alone.
The birds, flapping their wings, lift themselves
And murmur softly, “The Storm.”On the sea, the holy anger becomes rage,
The waves beat furiously,
Sharing the sky’s fury.
The gloomy wind blows and beats the sails with a clamor,
While the ocean, in a supreme effort,
Hesitating and becoming one great wave,
A new voice conjuring,
In its sad and plaintive timbre,
A new force among the other cries,
And while the terrified seabirds seek a hiding
In the depths of the few rocks along the coast,
The seamen in their crumbling
Shake their heads, saying, “Here is The Storm.”And God contemplates His work,
A smile appearing in his white beard,
Seeing the fear,
In his black columns, becoming white,
And while the weather continues shuddering,
God says to Himself softly,“Poor Man!
He cannot
Anything in my greatness.
Blind, undisciplined!
Poor Man!
It’s a storm!”written at the age of 13.
