Tintamarre was the storm, wild and proud
She lived in the lightning, cried in the thunder
Her way in the world was vibrant and loud,
The beat of her hooves could rip earth asunder
Verecund was the dawn, quietly creeping
Along strands of morn’s light she gracefully wove
Her golden webs sent the night away, weeping
As her web bore the sun and hung it high above.
Verecund was wary of Tintamarre, so brash without warning,
Tintamarre sneered at Verecund, so soft and so shy.
So the Storm-maker met the Dawn-weaver one morning
To show her who was truly the Master of the Sky.
“My hooves can trample your webs,” said Tintemarre,
“My lightning can shatter your fragile sunlight.
You should bow to me! In no way do you compare
To my thunder and rage and undeniable might!”
Verecund only kept weaving, her smile was wry.
“Yes,” she said, “You are most impressive, Loud One.
I cannot fight you, but if you want to claim the sky,
Simply break my web that is upholding the sun.”
So Tintamarre thundered, rolled and charged
Against the web where the sun blazed so bright,
But the web held strong, and no matter how hard
Tintamarre tried, it did not succumb to her might.
For you see, Verecund may have been shy and spritely,
And not as impressive as the storm’s churning,
But it is what is unseen that makes her mighty,And it is gentle wisdom that keeps the world turning.