Mystery Wind
The raging howling of the wind,
It sweeps through the woods,
Tempestuous is this kind
It’s in chaotic moods,
It pushes through not willing to rescind.
The frailty of the woods it doesn’t mind,
It’s visiting and tearing hoods,
Leaving them bare and thinned,
Trampling down cities’ fortunes and goods,
Legend has it that it comes from the hind.
None of this has been seen by humankind,
No one has travelled its roads,
It has been a sombre weekend,
There’s a shortage of supplies and sods,
No one has yet been able to mastermind.
October 22, 2022.
Copyright © Thompson Emate | Year Posted 2022
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