(This was typed in a computer room, but the first draft was written in my garden on this dark windy night.)
I hear it in the distance, rustling away.
I feel the cold air blowing down my fragile spine.
There it gusts, blowing the trees and my very paper.
The shivers begin in my humble ribs.
The sky is black as the wind clouds are brewing.
Oh the cold that sucks my control away.
My hands now shake.
The wind do gust.
My private atmosphere calls me.
To type for my beloved E2