The Coming Storm-W. B. Rands

THE COMING STORM

The tree-tops rustle, the tree-tops wave,

They hustle, they bustle; and, down in a cave,

The winds are murmuring, ready to rave.


The skies are dimming; the birds fly low,

Skimming and swimming, their wings are slow;

The float, they are carries, they scarcely go.


The dead leaves hurry; the waters, too.

Hurry and scurry; as if they knew

A storm was at hand; the smoke is blue.


W. B. RANDS


Summary: 'The Coming Storm' by W. B. Rands is a poem that describes the signs of an approaching storm. The tree-tops rustle and wave, and the winds are murmuring down in a cave, ready to rave. The skies are dimming, and the birds are flying low, their wings skimming and swimming slowly. The dead leaves and waters hurry and scurry, as of they knew that a storm was at hand. The smoke is blue, indicating that the air is already unsettled. The poem creates a sense of tension and anticipation for the impeding storm, as nature seems to be in a state of agitation.

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