Stormy tempest skies
rumbled in the dark night.
Little Sally Loo knew
that something was not right.
She jumped to her window
facing Cloverdale Street
where grey shadows of trees
stretch out to meet.
She looked up at the night
where clouds met
hanging low over her village
Somerset.
I like the idea of anticipating the "tempest" to come, that feeling when you know a storm is coming, literal or figurative, and how you both dread and crave what might happen.
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