Poem By Ivan Pine
The winds whistles fiercely through a crack
Winding around the tower shivers down my back.
Searching, searching for that first tell tale wisp
Of the red steer of trouble, bino’s in your fist.
Twisting and turning it’s just not fair
You just can’t see it all sitting in the chair.
Eagles and hawks a’playing in the wind
Little comprehension of the destruction it can bring.
The tower rocking gently with the smallest of the gusts
Hope to get out safely before anything busts,
No one to talk to except on the hour
Just want to get home soon, to have a shower.
The two way cackles with all the news
Listening very closely to garner any clues,
The girls in the office, sound real sweet
Your doomed for the season, to never ever meet.
A fevered imagination is all you’ve got
Unfulfilled yearnings are to be your lot
Soon now, it’s the last call
And head on home to have a ball.