|
Wind is a cat That prowls at night, Now in a valley, Now on a height, Pouncing on houses Till folks in their beds Draw all the covers Over their heads. It sings to the moon, It scratches at doors; It lashes its tail Around chimneys and roars. |
It claws at the clouds Till it fringes their silk; It laps up the dawn Like a saucer of milk; Then, chasing the stars To the tops of the firs, Curls down for a nap And purrs and purrs. by Ethel Fuller |