Wongan Way/The Little Storm Mother
The Little Storm Mother
Oh! who is afraid of the voice of thy thunder?
Who trembles and hides from the fire of thine eyes?
Who hails not thy coming, thou little grey wonder,
As far to the westward we see thee arise?
’Tis not for thy children, thine anger and grumbling,
Fierce little Storm-mother, with love in thy breast.
We laugh as we list to thy chariot-wheels rumbling.
We know what has brought thee from out. the cool west.
We know that the rover, the East Wind, has told thee
That blistered the hills are, and thirsty the plain.
Thy famishing children are fain to behold thee—
Their fevered lips long for thy coolness again.
In thine eyes blaze the lightnings of fierce indignation.
The little hills quake at the touch of thy feet.
But the children who know thee, in pure adoration
Cry “Little Storm-mother, your kisses are sweet!”
Come, veil us awhile from the harshness of summer.
Cast o’er us the folds of thy gossamer grey.
Oh! who is afraid of the little Storm-mother
Who shadows the hills from the heat of the day?