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.