Storm Warning
I hear the skree of the circling hawk,
Look up and see the clouds racing in,
And the hawk, oaring the roiling air.
A rising wind fills the listing willows:
Ghostly ships, moored and anchored
To ride out the storm as best they can,
No one to trim their billowing sails.
Sky heaves and darkens, disappears.
Only the hawk, the wind and the rain.
Poetry by countryfog
Read 611 times
Written on 2012-05-10 at 20:27
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