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Poem

High winds have come to a land remote and wild.
Oak leaves tremble in the black of night
While critters to the underbrush for the present are exiled.
Like a giant thrashing fiend, wind roars with all its might,
Increasing in intensity as if something got it very riled.
Not many birds will still remain where there is great height.
Gone into thick shrubbery, they’ll hide away tonight.

Wolves huddle together, for they are clever.
Into their dens they go or seek shelter in other spots they find,
Lest things worsen, however, 
Dogs of the wild won’t leave any of their pack behind.
Emitting long howls, they communicate.
Rolling thunder proves the whipping wind is more than scowling.
Not too soon will the wailing tempest’s tantrum abate.
Every wolf joins the wind in prolonged persistent howling.
Since the fierce fiend has now begun screeching like a banshee,
Scintillating stars tonight the wilderness won’t likely see.

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