We saw the storm coming

Far out to sea, thick clouds gather

Building in the rising level,

Lit from below by golden light

Overlooking ocean blue


The sun is slipping lower

To the horizon, and bathing us

In warm marmalade glow:

The thunderheads grow and

Whirl softly in, shoreward


The rushing wind is coming

Whistling and upsetting

The mirror-ocean now ruffled

White horses dance and

Spray us with salty foam


A million tiny craters form

In the sand as a billion

Raindrops fall like silver nails,

Pinning down the fading glow

Of the sinking sun


About Peter Bates

I'm a young guy in Cape Town, studying English and History, and teaching at high school level. I love to write and to work in theatre, both on and behind the stage. View all posts by Peter Bates

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