The Wind

I hear her in the dark.
Her siren song
soft as a lullabye.
From the window
I watch her stir the trees;
branches like crooked fingers
beckoning.
 
Come to me.
 
She grows impatient;
Whistles turn to moans.
She calls
down the chimney
shuffling the embers.
 
Come and play!
 
Grabbing at my skirt;
flicking my hair as I open
the door;
Her song
a harmony of welcome
with the rain.
She enfolds me in
a cool embrace
and kisses my cheek.