Like a soft drum roll or a bass recorder The rising moan of a night time wind Brings an uneasy sense of grim disorder As a siren once would have soughed and whined..
A wailing, a moaning, a mournful lenten prose Is the tone of the wind in its threnody, A pulsating tune is the way it goes, Or a dark-toned minor key melody.
The wind didn't sigh so in past years An uncanny shift in the habits of weather Gives bothersome cause to fret and to fear That things are going awry as never before.
It's starting to die down at last, But now I'm awake with my mind recalling The crass mistakes I've made in the past, Invoking in me thoughts appalling,
But then I'm lapsing into dreams That soothe me towards the longed for morning, With awakening hope of the first faint beams Of the sun on a calm new day now dawning.
