Those last few weeks
In early spring
And expected I’d think,
But each day
On my walk
I'd notice the damage;
The wind had been on quite a rampage;
Taking liberties
With property
Scattering shingles
With animosity.
Oh, I've felt like that
Sometimes myself
But wouldn’t destroy
Somebody's house.
Little animals cringed
Birds hid under eaves,
I felt for them but mused,
“Don’t look to me.”
I’d be there when they came
To my kitchen door;
And I'd offer food
But little more.
They could pluck at my heartstrings—
I’m sentimental,
But not reckless enough
To cross an elemental.