it howls outside my window pane.
To hear its fury is a gift;
my mind thus freed is cast adrift
to follow visions far and wild,
chasing dreams of a forgotten child.
As I rest here, warm and dry
far-flung adventure is its cry;
on its wings of storm-fuelled glory
I am carried to enchanted story.
My mind builds castles full of mystery
in echo of imagined history;
alone I travel through the skies,
my soul alight as darkness sighs.
The wind has come to follow rain:
it howls outside my window pane.