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The wind is gusting around the house.
Making an eerie keening sound, Like someone grieving. Scattering the leaves Causing these old windows to rattle Like old bones. Should I fling wide the door And let it inside? Or shall I go out from this shelter And brave nature itself. Feel the wind whipping through my hair The leaves blowing around my face. Would it carry me away? With those very same leaves, Away? Julie -September 1, 1997 |
