Here is one of my daughter’s poems. It’s posted here with her permission. She wrote this when she was thirteen years old.

By Samantha Finlay

The wind moans with the howl of a wolf,
Lonely, and missing from its pack.
It rages and rambles, fumes with fury,
Like the horns of a bull, and the hooves of stampede.
The wind will pounce with the heart of lion,
And strike with the claws of a bear.
It floats on clouds, with its wings gently prodding the sky,
And its white feathers urging all into an endless drift.
Like a mourning dove, it takes to the sky with dawn,
And with the wings of a bat, it persists through the silver moon,
And swirls through starlight,
Then meets sun again.
And through the day and night the wind plays, sometimes rough and others calm,
And sometimes it invites its friend, the rain, to join its game.
The days and nights can be quiet, and the wind will know lamentation.
But the wind has a mind of its own, and carries the right of choice.
It slithers, like a snake, through the sky,
Searching for rain,
And then they fly.