As the storm snatches leaves
Emeralds from fingers and those
Great arms in anguish at the robbery heave
And sway above their point of balance to and fro,
Do you sense your own disturb-
ance through the glass and do you find
The cause of all the movement and all the turb-
ulence dragging you from the centre of your mind
Lost in the scenery?
Be assured the ravens roost-
ing high in that wind-tormented canopy
Never share a girl’s anguish for mere leaves ripped loose
But black as storms they bide
The storm’s end when their hoarse calls
Can walk like rags around the countryside,
Bony lips tearing at the weaklings the tempest kills,
The hour your beauty shines.
Brushing mauve shadow round your eyes
And making mouths within the glass’s confines,
You will be yourself again, perfectly at ease.
This needed a lot of work. There is something there that wanted to be said. Have I isolated it yet?