The wind is whistling round our house
And how I love the sound of it.
The rain is drumming on the roof
As I listen to the pound of it.
The lightning tears the sky asunder
Followed then by claps of thunder.
On nights like this my thanks be said
I'm snug and cosy in my bed.
The last time I wrote a poem was when I was aged about 11 or 12 back in about 1943/44 when my brother was home on leave from the RAAF during WW2. Only 2 poems in 79 years? Well
there are some folk that don'e even write one.