When all the land is in repose
There is a noise, as nightfall shows,
A noise to stir the sinews of your mind.
And so, who hear it at its best,
(Who know its sound, as others rest)
May thank the Lord, he made it for mankind.

She hums and blows her gentle breezes ,
She comes and goes just as she pleases,
Purrs pastoral verses as her theme;
And when the twilight tones the air,
Then, striking strains are ever there
For one an' all who worship her esteem.

Her voice caresses mighty trees,
And bends their limbs with awesome ease,
Oaks submit and beeches stand-a-quiver.
She stings their leaves when passing through,
Then, sings a chorus, just for you,
A symphony so shrill it makes you shiver.

At times, if anger should prevail,
She tests her truth and blows a gale,
She proves the very essence of her skill.
She musters substance all around,
Her ***** bluster puffs, profound
She punishes the ground with all her will.

But she deems it daylight soon
So she chants a discrete tune
And gifts a temperate ballad, gladly bright;
And when the storm departs the earth
She whistles warm for all she's worth;
There's no sound like the wind makes in the night.

                                                         ­ ASJ