Storm

In leaden blue it musters force. Then comes electric blink, then roll of drums reflects from hills. Our spirits start to sink. Aloft the cauldron stirs its curse, a potion for attack. It starts to tease with brisky breeze then rips in with a smack. Now we are in a battlefield and each strafe makes us rail. Bullets of icy rain shoot in, then sideways pelt of hail. The leaden blue now loses force. But its anger not spent, for it will muster once again. Winter won't yet relent.