The nine o'clock hour strokes,
He stoke's the fire and pokes
Nudging the embers and coals
While outside a norther blows.
Wind moans over leafless limbs
Like a sirens song warning him,
A refrain played again and again,
Sorrowfully singing is the wind.
Windows noisily rattle and quiver
Giving him reason to shiver,
A cold draft envelops the room
Chilling the air like an empty tomb.
He pulls a shawl over one shoulder
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 blusters against the walls loudly
Then rages under the eaves madly.
Opening a book he attempts to read
As the wind begins picking up speed,
Relentless it whips over and around
Wreaking havoc with a haunting sound.
The mantle clock chimes midnight
As he is blows out the lamp's light
Then quickly slides into a cold bed
Pulling heavy quilts over his head.
Somewhere under covers piled high
Was heard a long soft sigh,
The wind sounds were that of weeping
As a lonely man lay sleeping.
©Written by: Kenneth J. Ellison 02-04-05
Song title: "Windy Night"