Treasure Island

Ray Clune

(England)

This Wind


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.

Submitted: Saturday, June 23, 2012
Edited: Saturday, June 23, 2012

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Poet's Notes about The Poem

I was sitting in my study one afternood a few weeks ago.
Daydreaming and looking out of the window, when the wind picked up.

It was Howling and Moaning through the trees outside.

The ideas in the poem have been edited many times since then.

I do not think this poem has finished with me just yet, although I am happiest with this version at the moment.

Comments about this poem (This Wind by Ray Clune )

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  • Valerie Dohren (6/23/2012 2:59:00 PM)

    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. (Report) Reply

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