The Wind This Morning

Crying, shouting, whining, moaning
Rushing from the west
Waking me in early morning
Ending sound and peaceful rest

Whipping over many miles
Pushing that not fixed before
Forcing leaves to bigger piles
Crashing waves upon the shore

Even ancient trees are bending
Tiles from roofs are ripped
But as the sun climbs it is ending
And peace returns as scales are tipped

The Wind This Morning

BurtleBard

Burtle, United Kingdom

  • Artist
    Notes

Tags

nature poem

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