North Wind

This poem is one from the archive, written on 9th January 2005, and inspired by George MacDonald's wonderful magical story "At the Back of the North Wind". With colder weather on the way, and the odd gale, rough seas, this seems timely to revisit.

North Wind

The lady of the night, my North Wind,
With hair like air, so fine and thinned;
You caress my face with gentle breeze:
A soft cool voice, to make me at ease;
And then you take my hand, we soar
Up into the clouds, in the night adore;
Hair now trails over house and roof,
Beats against the ground, cool, aloof;
You are rising, gigantic, in colder air,
Come sweep away the dirt with care;
The city streets blown clean this way:
A mighty gale, rattle slates, dismay;
And far out to sea, you cast your arm:
The waves are rising, there is alarm;
The ship is foundering in the waters,
Many drowning, sweeping fingers
Stir the ocean into fury, and I ask
Why is this your appointed task?
You smile sadly, such your nature,
As understanding my discomfiture,
To act this way, to take poor souls:
This is your path, to seek such goals,
To take them from the land and sea,
At the back of the North Wind to be,
In another country, to rest and stay:
A land of music, joy, so far away;
Now draw me inland, set me down
In cobbled streets of London Town;
Time to go now, farewell, my dear,
Descend to earth from stratosphere;
Softer, pale, diminish, you fade fast,
The breeze so gentle, and now the last
Soft kiss of your breath upon my lips,
As you wave in parting, shadow slips
Away, back to North, until one day,
You will take me there to ever stay.