The Wind

It’s been a rather blustery day
The leaves now fallen try to play
By twitching in their sodden heaps
Surprising us with sudden leaps.

The wind it whistles up and down
Creeping all around the town
Pushing cold across the moors
Rushing people closing doors.

Lights go on and coats are shed
Fires are lit and children fed
Later if we’re good, play games.
And TV’s flicker matching flames.

The Wind

BurtleBard

Burtle, United Kingdom

  • Artist
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nature poem

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