poem © Jeffrey Beaty
November 22, 2016 — 2 am
Another late night (early morning) maudlin poem, inspired by a brewing storm and mixed feelings of both contentment and loneliness.
THE WIND CALLS THE REFRAIN by Jeffrey Beaty
The wind calls the refrain and beats a slow tattoo
With rain patters on the roof, as the clock strikes two.
Many times I've been here, or somewhere near before;
but tonight is the first time I've washed up on this shore.
I wonder if it's wrong to feel so very much at home,
While listening to the clock tick and feeling so alone.
There's really nothing for it but to pull up the cover,
Bid adieu to another day, and take sweet Sleep as lover.