This wind it howls, this wind it moans,
A mournful eerie sound.
This wind gathers fallen autumnal leaves,
Just to dash them to the ground.
This wind makes fools of washing lines,
On its travels throughout the nation.
This wind plays with all the locomotives,
Huddled at St.Pancras railway station.
This wind buffets and shakes the aeroplanes,
As they seek a calmer, foreign sky.
This wind will grow tired soon enough,
Then it will surely die.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
My poem also entitled The Wind was also inspired by listening to the wind blowing through a bleak winters night, you may like to visit my page and take a read. Enjoyed reading your poem - good write.