My father, Lawrence Burton, wrote poetry and folksy stories for our local weekly newspaper back in the 80’s and 90’s. This morning as I listened to the howling wind and watched my golden retriever quake with fear, I was reminded of this gem. My father liked the poetry of Edgar A Guest and this was written in a similar cadence and style. I hope you enjoy the poem and the windy day that we have in store for this Tuesday, my birthday.
Voices of the Wind
When I was young and scary,
And all filled up with fright,
I could see all kinds of creatures
“Round my bedside in the night;
And I’d pray that dawn and sunshine
Would, somehow, my sorrows end,
As I laid in bed and listened
To the SCREAMING of the wind!
Like a freight train’s eerie whistle,
That sound would seem to be,
And I knew some big old black thing
Was a’reaching out for me;
And I’d peek out from the “kivers,”
Like a raccoon from its den,
As I laid there all a’trembling,
At the WHISTLING of the wind!
Oh, I was brave enough by day
And I’d often “take a dare,”
There wasn’t a river I wouldn’t swim
And I ‘splored caves everywhere,
But on windy nights I wondered
If that THING was there again,
As I gave my rapt attention,
To the CRYING of the wind!
And when the wind was howling,
I could see the wolves in pack
With their vicious eyes upon me
And their breathing at my back.
Then I’d struggle all the harder
To escape them once again
As I sprang upright and listened
To the HOWLING OF THE WIND!
So whenever thunder rumbled,
And the wind began to growl
I just knew those wolves were waiting,
To begin their nightly prowl.
Then “Old Rex” would start to whimper,
And my nerve would start to bend
As I laid there–heart a’pounding,
At the GROWLING of the wind!
But now that I am older,
And no longer fear the wind,
I feel that something’s missing,
When the sounds of night begin
And I crave a journey backward,
To recapture, if I can,
One more night of wild excitement,
‘Mid those VOICES of the wind!
(C) 1984 Lawrence R. Burton