LAST NIGHT WE HAD A THUNDERSTORM IN STYLE
Last night we had a thunderstorm in style.
The wild lightning streaked the airs,
As though my God fell down a pair of stairs.
The thunder boomed and bounded all the while;
All cried and sat by waterside and stile,—
To mop our brow had been our chief of cares.
I lay in bed with a Voltairean smile,
The terror of good, simple guilty pairs,
And made this rondeau in ironic style.
Last night we had a thunderstorm in style.
Our God the Father fell down stairs,
The stark blue lightning went its flight the while,
The very rain you might have heard a mile,—
The strenuous faithful buckled to their prayers.
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