The nine o'clock hour strokes He stokes the fire and pokes Idly at the embers and coals While outside icy wind blows. Wind moans over leafless limbs As a sirens song beckoning him, A refrain played again and again, Sorrowfully singing is the icy wind. Windows noisily rattle and quiver Giving him cause to shiver, A cold draft envelops the room Chilling the air like an empty tomb. He pulls the shawl over his shoulders, Outside the wind grows bolder It's freezing breath howls at the door Mocking wolves that roam the moor. Rocking by the fire his wrap in place He listens to the winds frantic race, It gusts against the walls loudly Then rages under the eaves madly. Opening a book he attempts to read, The wind begins picking up speed, Relentless it whips over and around Creating havoc and haunting sounds. The mantle clock chimes midnight, He moves to turn off lamplight, Then quickly jumps into bed Pulling the quilts over his head. "Fierce Wind" ©Written by: Kenneth J. Ellison 02-04-05 Return   Poetry By Ken Guestbook   Email Ken To send this page to someone