I've done the last two poems in my water cycle thing now. Here's the fourth part, which involves a storm:
Cold and wet,
A lonely raindrop falls through the dark.
The earth rises up to meet it, desiring
To burst the droplet.
The sky is black and menacing,
Occasionally streaked with a sudden ribbon of
Wind whistles discordantly,
Rustling the feeble treetops and providing warning
A colossal anvil floats in the air
Like a mountain freed from the shackles of the earth.
In fury it cries.
Its tears crash down endlessly,
Flooding what lies below
Blank and lost,
The raindrop makes its way down.
I fall to meet the earth, desiring
This last one is about snow, and in a way, finishes off the story that is vaguely (very vaguely) told in the others.
Winter has returned and the snow is falling,
Drifting into place atop the mountains.
Fresh snow, light and pure;
And old, harsh snow,
Made from salty drops in constant motion.
Together they form a rich white carpet,
Each unique snowflake shining.
The stark jet spikes
And mesmerising ivory layer
Remind distant dwellers of old photographs.
For one ashen speck falling dismally,
This is the end of a journey.
But for the graceful
Virgin shower all around,
The very same voyage has yet to start.
In the spring, all of the snow will melt,
For it is the time for new beginnings.
This winter's snow
Will leave the peaks,
As the old water soaks into the earth.
Sorry none of them have titles yet!