In the hush before the storm, it whispers low,
A flicker born of clouds where wild winds blow.
Its jagged fingers trace the velvet night,
A fleeting brilliance, a celestial sight.

With each electric arc, the heavens ignite,
A symphony of light, both fierce and bright.
The world below stands still in awe-struck gaze,
As lightning weaves its tapestry ablaze.

It speaks in tongues of thunder, bold and true,
A language ancient, old but ever new.
Its vivid strokes paint stories in the dark,
Of nature’s power, fierce and primal spark.

And when the storm retreats to distant lands,
The echo of its dance still softly stands.
A memory etched in the heart’s quiet core,
The lightning’s tale, a legend evermore.