The Wind Is Blowing. Poem by Sandra Kavanagh Josefsson

The wind is blowing harshly against my window pane.
Its sound is rough and daunting,
as it whistles through the lane.
The old oak tree outside is swaying to and fro.
The leaves are swirling past,
not really knowing where to go.

The little blackbird finds shelter under the bush.
The majestic swan is gliding,
not even in a rush.
Now the clouds are fiercely taking over the sky.
The birds disappear till
everything calms down,
at least they try.

And in the midst of the storm,
the sun suddenly appears.
Its light shines down so heavenly,
on the rains tears.

The wind is calmer now,
no more loud noise.
You can hear the seagulls in the distance,
you can hear their screeching voice.

The wind is blowing harshly against my window pane.
Its sound is rough and daunting,
as it whistles through the lane.
I am quite content to be inside
and listen to the rain.
Knowing that afterwards,
everything is going be the same.

Verse: Sandra Kavanagh (c) .