The thunder by my bedside,

Rocking me to sleep,

Reminds me that we asked

The rivers to run deep.

Prayed for clouds to shade our skin,

To pour upon our earth,

Please, clouds, keep giving,

Prepare for day’s rebirth.

 

This thunder by my bedside,

Shouting by my ear,

Shaking my old bedframe,

I listen, not in fear.

Thunder, unforgiving,

You celebrate the rains,

You tell our oldest stories,

In awe or in complaints.

 

Thunder, a companion,

Come to douse the flames,

A night strung up with flashing lights,

A wrath with none to blame.

Thunder tells his story,

In his ancient voice,

He’ll wash away our footprints,

Leaving us a choice.