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.