THE CRACKENBACK WINDS
It’s roaring outside now at forty-two knots
Like a thousand beasts on a rampage
We’re bunkering down in an effort to sleep
But I know that the battle is lost.
The ending of this I can’t fathom or gauge
With windows and walls being battered
While the neighbouring trees sway, scream, crack and fall
Their valorous roots yielding to rage.
Another sound beats all to test our fettle
As the wind swings the chimney cap round
The poorly-set copper is grinding its teeth
An incessant screeching of metal.
I’m thinking of creatures in fear in the wild
And hoping that none come to grief
It’s likely this onslaught will take something’s child
Before this night’s madness should cease.
8 April 2019
© Michael G Reid 2019