Not even the trees can snag to halt this vicious breeze that bucks stone angle of cornered house and boasts of broken boughs to disconsole all twisted limb.
Best to face the test square on and brave what storm portends until the sunless bluster’s gone.
For nothing bad lasts past love’s forever fire and even tyrants’ truant whims of plural hardblown gusts of wind fail to denigrate the luck of seven generations’ kin.
But fail to even record the joke of how chiseled dust become from brittle monument’s crust in cold.
And means to undermine their own pathetic wills are bucked by freedom’s ceaseless toil til joy destroys travail to command bright days again to fail.
(Lines per stanza: 8-5-8-5-8 )