THE HOWL OF A GOOD STORM

A poem I wrote yesterday trying to get some sleep.

The wind is playing its orchestra, through the rustling trees and funnelling roofs. A full procession this evening with the dancefloor occupied by moving garden furniture, gate crashed by unwanted wheelie bins and patio chairs. They are all dancing to Shake Rattle and Roll tonight, under the disco ball moon.

   I would complain and tell the wind to keep the bloody noise down, but nature never listens. So, I lay awake until the unruly neighbours finish their party, with hope to getting some sleep, dreaming of a calm summers day.