The harshness of the storm surpasses o'er the land
Winter seems to be a desolate surprise of joy
Crafted by some ungodly hand
By Apollo or by Dionysus or made by Gaia
A small trinket of what they mean is but a toy
Great wallops of fire and pillowing smoke!
Does scoff the land that does not choke
A mirror a maze a wonderful blaze
Separates us from what is real and what is a fake
What we own is not just made of what we take
Alex Fischer
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/gaia-s-wrath/
