The Enemies Poem by John Freeman
The Enemies
The angry wind
That cursed at me
Was nothing but an evil sprite
Vexed with any man's delight.
And strange it seemed
That a dark wind
Should run down from a mountain steep
And shout as though the world were asleep.
But when he ceased
And silence was--
Who could but fear what evil sprite
Crept through the tunnels of the night?
Friday, September 24, 2010
Topic(s) of this poem: enemies,evil,wind
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8/13/2026 6:40:30 PM # rel_20260811T123139Z_a98d49b
