GALE FORCE WINDS
 

The sky's still dark, as the world awakes,

To a strengthening wind, the dawning breaks.

A dawn that sees no golden sky, but flocks of clouds, fast fleeting by,

Fringed with honey coloured haze, the only sign of suns bright rays.

Down on earth, the willows bend, and greenhouse plastic panels rend.
 

In the street, rubbish and cans, disgorged from sacks, awaiting vans.

Dancing tins, and flying bags, festoon the trees, like tattered flags,

The raging wind which rants and roars, finds it's way through gaps in doors,

With wails like a tormented soul, seeking out each crack and hole.

Flying twigs, like showers of rain, beat against the window pane,
 

The window with a faulty catch, through constant gusts, becomes unlatched.

The curtains fly with each new blast, like sails attached to splintered mast.

Soon fractured hinge, and broken pane, give access to the driving rain.

All we can do is sit and wait, hoping the wind will soon abate.

No more the sound of breaking glass, skies clear, and all is still at last.

We've mended windows, mopped the floor.

Our house is home sweet home once more.

Ray Baker

 
 
 
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