The harsh winds snarl and bite like fighting dogs.
No pity in this bull-black bitter night.
No stars nor moon can pierce the city fog.
No shelter saves the beggar from his plight.
The winds whip swirling grit and stinging grime.
Mad demons breathe out sour tasting wrath,
And wine red sky now marks the passing time
When, waking widows mourn the hour of death.
Although the sulphurous gusts still groan and howl,
The night begins to fade for dawn's debut
While roaming dogs bare yellow teeth and growl
As smoky shadows slink through trembling dew.
The daybreak chimes, and morning sweetly sings,
Retreating night’s outshone by brighter things.
Copyright © Maggie Huscroft