The treetops are black,
Backlit by purple-white lightning
That ripples across the night.

Then comes low, distant thunder,
As if the night is mumbling,
Clearing its throat with its rumbling.

A chime clangs in the dark
Like a ship’s bell in a storm,
Heralding something, perhaps to warn.

The treetops are black,
Backlit by purple-white
Midnight lightning.