Blowing Home a sonnet

It rattled windows it rattled my doors
it's whistling past in a rattling rush,
it rattled the tea cups and saucers of course
carrying trees and a mulberry bush,

tin cans, newspapers, a disgruntled cat
dustbins, a slice of bread and beef dripping,
the winning home run from a baseball bat
giving buildings a whipping in passing,

careening round corners giving no heed
to pedestrians sticking 'em on a " cross "
ignoring the policeman's ticket for speed,
stripping bald men's hats off, it did! they're lost...

but, pleasing sailors, sailing their Dinghy's,
and blowing you home, dear, " Did you miss me ?"