The WindMature

She slams the door behind her,

huffing and puffing,

piercing the air with her haunting whistle,

penetrating the skies with imperceptible eyes.

She flies, leaping from tree to tree,

causing the leaves to flitter and flap,

She frolics, skips, bursts out in sudden blood-chilling rages,

dancing and writhing through holes in brickwork.

She tunnels into tiny places, squirming,

penetrating the poor man's home,

whisks his hair, chills his bones, extinguishing flames in one breath,

then rushing away, careers, unseen.

She darts around, opens and loosens screws and bolts,

punches at stomachs, screams insults,

she crashes, splits, cries in vain,

the wind dies. 

The End

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