Howling wind, calls out sad and longing,
sighing solemnly through the trees.
Not threatening, but showing off its gusts,
warning of gale building up, with storm looming.
The howling is sad and threatening, like a lone wolf crying for company.
Now the wind roars breathy in the trees,
which bend yielding to the force, but resilient in submission.
The howling is haunting in its caress,
foreboding with its insistent persistence to get in.
Seeping through the cracks of shuttered doors and windows
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem