As the wind howls,
I cower in fear under my sheets.
No one to hold me,
Or hold my hands.
Lonely the word is
When the wind howls.
The tress wave their barren arms.
Swaying back and forth.
Mocking at me and my fear.
The dry leaves rustle around
Chattering with the wind,
As I cower in fear.
In the quietness of the room.
All I hear is wind.
Scared.
In the middle of all of it,
I hear that melodious voice.
Can’t make out a thing,
Yet soothing to my soul.
No longer afraid. I listen harder.
Yet, nothing lasts forever.
Too my own discontent,
I clearly hear the words.
The wind howls with those words.
And I cower in fear.
