In Print 06

The wind is howling through the trees;
At first it was a steady breeze,
But things are starting,
With branches parting,
And on the ground are many leaves,

The washing has been strewn around,
The clothes-post fallen to the ground.
The line is flying,
And blackbirds crying,
For nowhere can their nests be found.

The gale went on the whole day through,
Until the evening shadows grew,
As darkness fell,
No one could tell,
The damage wrought by the wind which blew.