The wind whistles eerily, as the storm approaches, <br />it gradually encroaches, taking over <br />like some unscrupulous military machine, <br />giving way to no one, <br />just charging along at a fierce pace, <br />buffeting anything that gets in the way. <br /> <br />It cannot turn back, not once it's committed. <br />The oncoming storm whips it into swirls of forceful energy, <br />it is uncontrollable. <br /> <br />This wind brings with it a follower. <br />The rain. <br />Battering and pounding on the rooftops, <br />lashing against the windows, <br />drumming a rhythmic revelry. <br /> <br />Here is a temper at full spate, caring not one iota <br />for the damage inflicted on man or beast or their environment. <br /> <br />Then suddenly, the sky starts to brighten, <br />the clouds part and the sun peeps through. <br /> <br />The storm is passing, and all is fresh and clean. <br />The rain's work is done, <br />and the elements are at peace once more. <br /> <br />© Ernestine Northover<br /><br />Ernestine Northover<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/wind-song/
