The Three O'clock Wind
The three o'clock wind rides the back of the dead.
Partnered with anger, while laughing with dread.
All windows of glass become that made of air,
in comes the three o'clock where other's won't dare.
From window to floor then bed where you rest,
the three o'clock wind soon encircles your chest.
Eyes wide in knowledge, mouth open with fear,
yet no sound is brought fourth to warn that it's hear.
For no fortress of stone nor fast running stream,
can silence the cry of the three o'clock scream.
R. F. Mayes
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