The Storm: A Child: And The Blanket Poem by Jack Gill

Strong gusts of winds lash the house outer covering,
It vibrates in protest,
And growls with pain:
Waves of angry fury make the child want mothering;
Comfort from fear,
And reason to explain.

Why the storm makes the child fearful this night,
When the wind's gusting fiercely,
What is the plight:
When it rattles the walls,
What's that terrible din:
But under the blanket instead this child does cling.

As the rain on the roof makes a thundering sound,
Like monsters throwing boulders to ground:
Bang, crash:
Are throwing them down:
With their monster arms making that sound:
Cries out the child pulling the blanket around.

In a room full of darkness deserted by light,
Scared the child hides under the blanket tonight;
As the ceiling above rattles,
And the roof wants to take flight;
A storm lashes the building,
With all of it's might.

Then the rain comes down harder,
And louder it roars,
Drowning the wind with the torrent it pours;
Flooding the roof,
And flowing indoors;
But the child stays dry under the blanket.

When a strange sort of quiet takes over the room,
The monsters have gone,
Then out comes the moon;
With never a peek,
But often a swoon;
From the child under the blanket.

Till the wind dies down soon,
And the blanket is strewn,
Over the bed, much like a festoon:
Now drifting to sleep in the woollen cocoon;
And humming a much happier tune;
The child snuggles down under the blanket.