Awake,
waiting in the low light,
forsaken,
nothing bright,
just rain,
and trees,
and leaves blowing in the breeze,
and the silhouettes of the shadows,
they bend and vanish as they please,
but not me,
I march on,
I march on determinedly,
I march on trying to avoid the bitter icy raindrops,
the icy rain drops that bombard me,
as I walk down from the mountaintop,
and as I walk the flash of lightning,
and the roar of thunder it hurries me,
and faster and faster I run,
with my heart beating in anticipation,
as the lightning it strikes without hesitating,
and my legs they walk as fast as they can,
in trepidation,
oh, what power the heavens have,
and what a glory the storm it is in my vision,
the storm that leaves me with palpitations,
yes, it is a life or a death moment,
because the lightning could decide to take me,
from the Earth in a moment of angry frustration,
but I,
I march on,
I march on with the heavens above so dark,
and gloomy yet briefly filled with light,
as down the path I walk,
with a wariness but with great delight,
oh, what grand power the heavens have,
and nature that casts,
such a beguiling spell before my eyes, before my eyes,
oh, what glorious variation and surprise,
sound and light, anxiety, and mild fright,
as I march on,
as the sound of thunder booms above my head,
and I march on rapidly down,
the mountain top in the fearsome night.
