Windy Ridge Living. - Poem by Fay Slimm
Gushing, as suddenly breeze turns to spite
And spits rain, here, once again unremitting,
A precursor to dour grey, it looks quite
Stormy. As prelude befitting, I sit
Here measuring life at the top. Gale approaches,
Which will bellow and blow fiercely, then stop.
Then as soon as rock feels sun, I will broach
The subject of warmth. Rain or not, mocking
At blow, rock, secretly like me, loves free
Spirited air, which daringly changes
It's face at will. Amazingly this windy
Ridge has survived vagaries like danger
From capricious winds, and so have I, life
Here has to be faced full on and mightily.
Comments about Windy Ridge Living. by Fay Slimm
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love You