Here I sit behind the tree,
A howling wind encompasses me,
It feels so cold, my face like ice,
I feel I’m trapped in natures vice.

The wind she cries her incessant wail,
While trees all shudder in the gale,
As branches in the wind, they clatter,
It sounds as if they start to chatter.

The moon himself hides in the cloud,
As if some sacred ethereal shroud,
No visible signs of life I see,
As louder screams this natural banshee.

Now heavily start the drops of rain,
The trees start creaking, so much strain,
From the skies, an almighty crack,
As lightning streaks through skies so black.

The storm grows near, I sit and wait,
Stare down this tempest seems my fate,
The skies now glow electric white,
So hard to tell if day or night.

A sense of foreboding overwhelms,
As shadows dance among the elms,
With the scent of sulphur the air is tinged,
As warily I sit in the shadow of the wind.

© Cinco Espiritus Creation