The Howling Wind

The Howling Wind

The wind begins in the distant trees,

A soft breath swelling on the cold breeze.

It starts with a whisper, then rises with might,

Turning to howls that fill up the night.

It sweeps through the valleys, a ghost on the run,

Howling and crashing, like thunder, it’s done.

It chills to the bone, stirs fear in the heart,

A wild, restless force, tearing worlds apart.

It dances through alleyways, rattles the panes,

Brings stories of darkness, of loss and of gains.

It twists and it twirls, with a fierce, haggard voice,

A call to the lost, an eerie choice.

From the depth of the forests to the shores far away,

It carries the echoes of memories that sway.

It roars through the night, under a shrouded moon,

Filling the silence with its haunting tune.

As morning approaches, the howls start to fade,

But the whispering winds keep the memories made.

It starts in the dark, where shadows can blend,

And ends with the dawn, but its echoes won’t end.

The wind may grow quiet as daylight draws near,

Yet its essence remains, always lingering near.

For where it began, in the stillness of night,

It carries a message, both fearsome and light.