The clouds have gathered, as an evil gang

And yet, despite the prospect of a storm

Some are waiting for the thunder’s loud bang

A cold wind dies before it is reborn

And yet inspiration turns into verse

But the page expects to be roughly torn

Scribbled lines getting lost, and even worse

Words begin to beat down, just like hard rain

And even if damaged, few need a nurse

They still assemble, ignoring any pain

And the poem comes, despite foul weather

Such motivation is not seen again

But creative freedom means no tether

As the rhythm and rhyme work together

Howard Osborne is a UK citizen, retired. Published author of non-fiction reference book, scientific papers and poetry. Interests mainly creative writing (poetry, novel, short stories, songs and scripts), music and travel.