the glass shakes
it sprints through the trees
and the branches ache
While lying in bed
the strangest of thoughts
occur in my head
of white washed sails
above the house
billowing in the breeze
drifting along
with the simplest of ease
The ship brings the wind
so it's sails can flow
it steers through the sky
its movement strong, slow
and all the while
the wind bellows.
The ship of the night time
navigating with the moon
but it will be gone,
it will be gone soon.
The wind is silent against the window
the glass is still
it stops in the trees
and there is a chill.
