all are copyrighted.
the first is called because of the storm.

A little yellow rose sits and waits, unclear as to what.
The sun is hidden by the tall trees surrounding.
The rose cannot bloom.
It's only friend is the ladybug on it's petals.
The ladybug is still, never moving more than it has to.
It slumbers all day and eats all night, oblivious to the rose's pain.
The yellow rose struggles to reach the sunlight, but it's roots hold it in place.
All seems lost.
The rose starts to wither and die, weak from lack of sun.
Then comes the storm.
It comes as the pair sleep, both unaware of the approaching danger.
It's winds whip through, tearing apart the forest surrounding.
The lightning flashes.
The thunder roars.
And the rose and ladybug struggle to hang on.
Just when they think they cannot last any longer, the storm comes to an end.
All is calm now.
Then up from the horizon comes the sun.
Dawn is here.
The forest around the rose has fallen.
No trees to block the sun.
The rose is bathed in glorious light.
The little yellow rose can bloom now.
It can become big and strong.
And at long last, it is happy.
It is free.
It is whole.
Because of the storm.

this one is called the spirit of america.

Majestic, powerful. It sits above surveying the land below. It watches the changes of the earth. Sees the men come across the sea and build upon the fields. Looks out at the new ones as they bring violence and pain to the natives. It observes the dark skinned ones and sees the sufering among them. Witnesses the men fight amongst thier selves, brothers against each other. Views them as they spread across the land, sea to sea. It examines thier new technology as it burns the earth, destroying as it goes. Weeps at the change. The beauty has gone and man is everywhere. It recoils at the thought of the future and wishes for the past. Longs for the days of old and crys at the waste of the present. But It holds onto the hope that one day the land will be loved as it was before and rejoices as the men discover thier mistake. It is relieved. It is hopeful. It is The Spirit of America.

the last is called winter storm.

The flakes fall, fat and fluffy upon my head. I walk through the streets and feel them crunch beneath my feet. The trees are heavy with their weight.Branches sag and green turns to white. Wind blows and snow swirls. Thick and fast, it falls. The sky is filled with dark clouds. I shiver. My coat is pierced by the frigid air around me. The storm gains strength. It throws snow in my face. I can feel the wind breathing on the back of my neck. Walking is difficult, the snow is up to my knees. I wrap up tighter in my coat.
But then…
The wind stops roaring. The snow slows. The clouds break apart. Bright sunlight shines down. Down upon the glittering ground. Trees are frosted white. Birds sing. Children laugh. The darkness has gone. In it's place it leaves…
Beauty.

they're like kinda like story poems.