Musing: Sylvia, Lightning, Bad Weather in general

I gave you my warning
My white lighted warning
but still you chose to stay

Oh, how sweet! you thought
I expected red but it is not
perhaps she will let me go quietly away
A flash of peace, a sign of surrender
What a kind, genteel lady
Look at these sparkling drops
So refreshing and soft
To Keep me cool and comfortable on my way

I strike my cane at the absurdity of your thought
Long, white, sparking like an eel
You are naive, As if
I would ever grant you some sort of reprieve
For strike I will
Cut your small rosy lip on the jagged edge of your well worn windowsill
that your "soft little drops" did make.

Don't be surprised
If my strike blinds your beady eyes
Don't be surprised
If my shout makes you cry

the storm will eventually go away
but for now my sound billows
wetter than a weeping willow
And you, skinny sir, are no one to save.

I gave you my warning
My white lighted warning
but still you chose to stay