In storm's fierce wrath, I stand my ground,
Yet fleeting, swift, I can't be found.
A fortress strong, yet ever fleeting,
In nature's grasp, I find my meeting.
I'm refuge sought when tempests rage,
Within my walls, find solace, engage.
Though made of naught but walls and beams,
I'm sought in wake of dire dreams.
What am I, elusive, yet so clear?
A sanctuary, when all draws near.
Choose wisely, let your intuition guide,
For in this riddle, truths abide.
Click on the correct answer.
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