I was woken by the howling wind in the small hours.
The clock was showing three forty-four.
The shutters were banging against the outside wall
and a draught blew under the door.
Driving rain was being carried by the relentless wind,
peppering the windows and rattling the letterbox.
Cold air circulated around the bedroom and house,
but I was warm under my duvet and in my woolly socks.
Thunder shook the house in the small hours,
whilst flashes of lightning lit up the room.
After that I must have fallen off to sleep again,
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem