A thousand miles from its center
As the great storm was dying
An impulse, a contraction
Kinked the frontal boundary
Between warm, moist and cold, dry airs.
This was to happen four times
Before the storm's last breath inward.
Each kink gave birth,
But only the last one,
By engulfing a weakened, older sibling
Survived.
A week later, this child
Left the Newfoundland shore
To die at sea,
Never reaching the full fury of its parent.
But it left an offspring floundering
Off Hatteras.
Unable to sustain the life-force,
Born in the wrong environment,
Born at the wrong time,
The lineage ended peacefully
In mid-Atlantic unseen
With barely a ripple
On the waters below.