Hurricane Poem by Mark Heathcote

There's no turning this hurricane
She bound for the mountain-heather
And fairer weather… fairer weather…
While I'm suspended in the sky
Wondering if I'll live or I'll die
She's got gold in her hair that bathes
In the sunlight, without trouble.
But trouble will always follow
That's why she's a hurricane
You can't trail or tame
But if you are lucky enough
You may get caught in a trough,
Caught in the middle where in the stillness
Of the night, she lets down her golden hair
Where the rabbits roam with the hare-like there's no
Tomorrow or today, and that's just
Where my own troubled heart longs to be.
While I'm suspended in the sky
Wondering if I'll live or I'll die.