The Storm
I lie awake, hearing the wind
Winter, that coils in the breast of night
Glides in from the fields,
Eerie sounds through window sills
When night, soon perishes into dawn
A morning, slender and pale
Still dark with shadowed swill
Reveals such hapless sight
The wretched carpet, rubble and plight
Like broken wings from dark of night
Finds limb and bough mere ghosts
Of trees, battered, forsaken
By violent rage of night
Copyright © Carrie Richards | Year Posted 2010
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