BOLTS OF LIGHTNING

There, in the distance,
Sharp bolts of lightning race
To strike the ground
And in their hurry, they
Leave in the heavens the sound
Of their swift footsteps
And their nuances
Of just where to go
They then strike the ground
At random, so random,
They never strike
The same ground twice.
They are quarreling children
Each running for their
Share of the earth's sweetness.