Poetry Archives

A wind rose in the night,
 (She had always feared it so!)
Sorrow plucked at my heart
 And I could not help but go.

Softly I went and stood
 By her door at the end of the hall.
Dazed with grief I watched
 The candles flaring and tall.

The wind was wailing aloud:
 I thought how she would have cried
For my warm familiar arms
 And the sense of me by her side.

The candles flickered and leapt,
 The shadows jumped on the wall.
She lay before me small and still
 And did not care at all.