The Forgotten Town

The rain beats down on the windowpane, 
Lighting streaks the sky. 
The black clouds of rolling thunder, 
Come from the darkened sky. 
I see a branch break off from the tree, 
Falling freely at last to the ground. 
When I listen closely I hear, 
A pitter-patter from the tin roof, 
Of our ancient barn. 
It smells of crisp clean air, 
That's all around. 
The rain diminishing quietly, 
From the forgotten town.

 Tristen R. Snelling