Every storm reaching full maturity
Contains the code for its own demise.
Giant that this storm had become
Could not deter
From their appointed duty.
When the swiftly advancing cold
Overtook the warm, moist mass
It encircled and squeezed.
Thus, over a line now
Stretching 500 miles from the storm's heart
The switch had been thrown
Diverting the warm, moist air away,
From stoking the storm engine's boiler.
Now, barring intervention from the gods,
The great storm entered the penultimate phase
Of its life cycle: Decay.
Once the energy stored in its core regions
Death by starvation would follow.
Snow and rain still fell feebly
As the last vapours were digested and expelled.
Winds once feared
Now dissipated to gentle breezes,
Only the occasional gust
A reminder of the fury of youth.