A cold wind rattles shutters on my window 
while ripping at the shingles overhead.
It batters down the grass out in the darkness 
leaving broken stems behind instead. 

It blows because it can
It blows to break the will,
and if the trees don't snap
then it blows fiercer still.

It whips up quite a frenzy in the branches 
while stripping them of all that they hold dear 
tossing coloured treasures ‘round like bits of dust 
howling in the wake of every tear.

It blows when life feels coldest
when a warm breeze would be best,
it blows to flaunt its power;
prove it's better than the rest.

A cold wind buffets off my best defences 
in hopes that it might catch me when I'm low; 
a draft is slowly seeping through the windbreak 
I fear the weathered walls soon may not hold.



   
              oct 2003 
                                   ©Janet Reid          



Included in:



 Poetry Pages: A Collection of Voicef From Around The World 
 Volume II