Winter wind, granite stone are siblings,
Persistent island presence, unaffected
By the other, stone blocks wind, cold
Penetrates thin seams between hand
Laid stones, sealed with mud-plaster,
Wind whistling around wooden window
Frames. “I am here,” hard gusts pester
Stone walls. “As am I,” stone replies,
Frost freezing on glass panes, ice on
Ponds and puddles. By oil lantern flame
I listen, stone and wind, whining, wailing
Worrisome till morning light. “Did you hear
The wind, Willow?” mother asks, cherry
Cup of steaming tea, peat fires burning,
Warm sunrise, wind slowly wore away.
Thanks for reading this windy worded poem.