Panacea

The trees shook like bronchioles,
Warm breath into cold air,
Thunder stumbled down the glen
and seemed to come from everywhere.

No creature spake nor rose
As the lightning split the night,
Dialating every eye,
That had not closed from fright.

A spring of common Teal,
Scampered through thick grass,
Searching frantically for shelter
Until the storm could pass.

They find solace under an old pine,
That blew down in years gone by,
Then huddled close together,
To keep safely warm and dry.

Until the break of morning,
The heavens howled and cried,
They bore the rain with fortitude,
sleeping closely at eachothers side.

Then surely company is comfort,
To each creature it is known,
That neither food nor haven,
Is quite as good alone.