Ken's Poetry

The Wind

The wind is back, sizzling the trees,
shouting the winter message,
tugging the browning leaves,
latent anger stirring
cold death in the breeze.
Geese are making escapes
over the rattled lake
and starlings band together
taunting the shrieking sky.
Behind the rotten-apple tree
slashed coat of cloud trails
tugs at my mind,
tempting me into
the last frenzied throw
before the dead dark calm
of winter grows.