Sunday, December 11, 2016

Ninety-five Miles Per Hour...Again

Sometimes the wind does impressions,
The usual favorite is a freight train…
Sometimes the voice is a lion’s roar,
Or muted by a hurricane rain.

Sometimes the wind in thunderous,
Blowing the island apart.
Rare occasions, the wind is gentle,
Playing a hypnotic Aeolian harp.

I’ve noticed the winds are changing,
Fallen trees roll across the grass.
I hear the sounds of pried nails,
Metal ripping and broken glass.

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