A Poem
It was a dreary night in the month of May
It was foretold by a dank and dreary day
The Full moon was in the process of dy-ing
Whilst out in the woods the waives were crying.
The leaves rattled through the trees
Flying about on a stiffening breeze
The dark black clouds were hiding the Moon
Surely the storm would arrive quite soon.
Through the day the sun had not been seen
The wind it had whistled cold and keen
The clouds had scudded across the sky
The trees had bent as the wind howled by.
An icy blast from the East had come
It carried a threat of snow for some
Was this a herald of winter returning?
For the wind it blew and felt like burning.
The leaves turned brown in the icy gale
The spring had gone in a storm of hail
Would the summer ever be nice?
Or was this the herald of an age of ice?
Would the Sun come and warm the Earth
Or was this to be a season of dearth
Could man survive the terrible cold?
Was this the end as had been foretold?
Richard
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