Howlin' Mad Wind
The game's over.
The wind madly howled,
I cursed and growled,
And buried my sweaty head in a towel.
The wind had a distracting noise like a snare drum
Hit by fast hand. Its bitterness made me numb.
Manager said 'Wind killed us against the scum.'
We'd spit, and it would shoot like missiles mid-air,
Fly around everywhere.
Spit into the wind? You shouldn't dare.
We'd kick a ball straight, and it would curl and spin.
From when the match did begin,
We were beaten, by the howlin' mad wind.
poem by A.J. Ryan
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
