The Wind is Shouting

The wind  is shouting
At me
Hear him  howl
He  sucks my flames -
Up  the chimney
Blasts dry snow
At my  window
Silting up every
Crevice with inches
Of white
My  room  is become
Quite grey
The light cannot filter
Through  this sticky film
Streaking the glass
In vertical crystals
How  he blusters round
The house  blowing
Fit to burst
Huffing and puffing
Shoving with strong
Fibrous hands
As  if he would
Tear granite down
Reduce my  life to
Rubble
Gaily he sings through
Cracks and under
Doors  whistling
And  happy in his
Work   whipping up
The passive covering of
Glistening white
To  an inelegant frenzy
Until by the swirling
Twisting grains of ice
His coming  and
Going  his wild
Dervish dance  is
Seen by  us
He  who is always
Indispensible
Yet invisible
Largely ignored
Has become
Alive and
White he gets
His own  back on the world
Gripping our
Hearts with cold
Attention
We  blanche
At the sight
And  wonder
How  long his
Power  can         
Hold
Nervously we  wait
For him  to         
Blow  his
Temper  out.

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