Round The Compass Twice With The Wind
The wind’s in a whirl
In a cyclonic spin,
A mischievous girl
With intentions to sin.
With sharp cloven hoofs,
This she-devil conspires
To tear from our roofs
All the chimneys and tiles.
The wind’s in the north,
A philosopher’s stone,
For all that it’s worth,
Turning water to bone.
It’s longing to tell
Bedtime stories at night
To earth, in its spell,
Tucked in blankets of white.
The wind’s in the south,
Bringing soothing, warm balm
Breathed out from its mouth,
An oasis of calm,
Negating the strife
Of the winter’s harsh fling
And bringing new life
To the meadows in spring.
The wind’s in the east
As it tears through the sky,
A mythical beast
That’s inclined to be dry.
It fanned all the flames
To devour London town
By banks of the Thames,
Eaten down to the bone.
The wind’s in the west
Bringing drink after drought,
Salvation, so blest,
For each thirsty, green shoot.
High up, on the hills,
With a gardener’s hand,
It fills lakes and rills
From its watering can.
The wind, it is still
So, without it, the fog
Can flourish so chill
[...] Read more
poem by C. Richard Miles
Added by Poetry Lover
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