Tree Primeval

Upon the mount I stand, a tree of eld,
Deformed, but wise, and humbly bent to earth
From brutal storms that cow the bravest man.
This eve I watch a most ferocious storm,
That cruelly savors thrashing wheat in fields,
And proudly floods the streams with pouring rain,
While thunder loudly crashes high above.
But hark! The frenzied storm now fades away,
The gray and dark, foreboding clouds withdraw
And in their place resides the golden sun.