a lark in the storm
clouds rushing in,
the winds blowing high;
a lark flies away,
caring for the storm nigh;
the winds toss and turn her
time and again;
but she keeps flying high
despite her pain;
i do not know where she has flied away to
if she has traveled a hundred miles or two;
but that still image of her fighting the storm
gives courage and will keep my heart warm.