Stella Kuhl


The Wind


The wind is a wolf,
It howls and bites,
Then runs past without a trace.

Silently waiting,
Crouching,
Then pouncing without warning.
Running past,
Snatching the warmth from your bones,
And stealing it away.
Playing in the chill autumn,
Teasing the drifting leaves as they fall.
Flying with the swirling snowflakes,
As they descend from the heavens above,
To reach the earth below.

The wind is a wolf,
It howls and bites,
Then runs past without a trace.

Submitted: Friday, May 23, 2014

Topic of this poem: metaphor


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