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Click hereThe wind, howling like a daemon possessed,
Shrieks at the frosted panes of icy glass
And causes the cold frames of window and door
To protest that frigid phantom's caress.
Warm inside my haven, I watch the snow
Pile into powdery drifts, then blow
Heavenward, white as an angel's wings,
Cold as the devil's heart.
An unmelodic flute plays the voice of the wind,
Swelling and ebbing like the wintry ocean tide,
Receding, then coming back again,
Echoing ghostly songs within the dark corridors of my mind...