Poetry

Where trees stand in the winter night as skeletons
out of the clouds of fog the silver-white moon rises
and in the distance a dog is barking,
when other sounds come that no man can understand,
 
lightning-bolts flash down without end
and as a mere man
I see the omnipotence out of the hand of God
 
when the windows rattle as if something wants to come in
and I am astounded by the great scene
when the first drops begin to fall
and rain pours down over the dry earth.