The Wind Storm

Candles set out,

racing-like wind song

moves fluidly and stout.

A raking alongside the house,

and only strong branches will sojourn

before finding company in creeks and puddles

also adorned with leaves,

mud, and long-past sticks,

as the gusty whooshing comes,

swirling heavily tonight, then it runs.

How much can these windows bear?

That tree was too near, why did I not shear?

Oh, that broken treetop on the far hill,

almost had its own will.

Warm in the house now,

maybe take my bow,

I think, early to bed for me.

When the power goes,

better to be in bed with comfy toes;

perchance not a better place to enjoy

an old-fashioned

woodstove low-glow night,

all the world will seem right.

Frozen pipes are a fright,

so, the faucet is not tight,

but a fire I will want to be built

better tonight, a morning with no guilt.

The extra water jugs are now full,

the teapot on the wood stove

should help calm tomorrow’s lull.

Tired now, a melodic yawn,

sleep I enter until the dawn.