The Storm

A poem in Prime, and reversed Prime, for Stormy

Walking
through the
first storm in
Spring, I feel lost, alone.
This awful rain is drenching my shoes,
my clothes are wet, I am shivering, my hands, so cold...
in the distance, I see someone appearing, pushed forward by the hard wind.

He stops, a smile appears on his worried face, then he comforts me.
Together we walk back, as my bicycle's wheel is flat.
Silently we struggle, focussing to one point
that is home... warm, comfortable
where we'll hide
from the
wind.