Gales At My Doorstep

• Sara Chapman, Grade 8
• Poetry
• 2017

Wind sleek as rivers is rippling gold
Scathing the sand, snapping waves affright
All sky its lungs yet just whispers are doled
Tapping and crying on doorways at night

As though asking or howling a babel
Shibboleth uttered, is each word a lie?
Mocking the trees, slithering now able
Night comes a serpant with moon's silver eye

Gales swept grey as a falcon falls from glide
Knives are its wings shaking tones from dither
Sleet turns to soil sinking notions with tide
All sky its lungs yet voice is a quiver

A thrum upon my door wails blue at last
Its whistles turn shallow, and dawn is cast