Growing Old


The wind came like a freight train
howling in the dark
with it's whistle screaming warnings.
The old house braced itself against the blast,
and rusty nails determined to hold fast
screeched and groaned under the attack.
While just outside
the brittle winter branches
clawed at the window.
The wind played the old house like a broken fiddle,
breaking into the damaged places;
moaning through every hole and crack
and rattling panes and doors like a bully.
Then. just as suddenly
the wind gave in
and moved on to challenge a weaker foe.
Silence settle on the old house
standing wounded but still strong.
Many storms it has survived
and many more to come.

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