Thunderstorm

She welcomes the summer sun's scorn,

Mountains, trails and boots both worn.

Wildflowers like fields of corn
Smells and shade and views galore.

This season sets her heart to sing,

Her love is deep yet she is torn.

Sweaters for those crisp drip fall morns,

The reds, the yellows, the orange.

Winter and fire oh so warm,

Cheer and lights and much much more.

But grandest are windows in spring,

For it is to the thunderstorm that she is sworn.