The Roaring Wind

By Ethel Jacobson

The wind roars down

From the mountaintops.

It roars all night

And never stops.

It roars like a lion

With an aching tooth,

Like two bears fighting

In a telephone booth,

Like a TV western

With lots of static,

Like jet planes zooming

Right through the attic.

And it’s almost half

As good for noise,

Our mother says,

As two small boys.