The Symphony of the Skies

On a cloudy morning, the thunder starts,

to rumble, grumble, a fire ignited within. 

The shouts of birds, desperation calling,

on a cloudy morning in my backyard.

On a sunny day in my backyard, the rays sizzle, with

fury, power, a strong but unbearable noise.

It whistles, blows - a goanna's haven -

on a sunny day, in my backyard.

On a humid afternoon, the leaves crinkle,

they wrinkle, tinkle; while the fruit bats - an aerial ace,

the sound of flutter, whoosh, cockatoos flee, 

on a humid evening in my backyard.

On a balmy night, the crickets chirp,

they cheep, and peep, while the moon, it hums,

and delicate hum, the cicada's song - a menace to ears,

on a balmy night in my backyard.

On a misty midnight, the wind picks up, but -

growls, howls, fill the air with reverberation. The air, it starts to

freeze, suffocating; a painful noise, the clouds drop water, down, down,

on a now misty - break-away dawn.