by Ivor Gurney
The wind frightens my dog, but I bathe in it,
Sound, rush, scent of the Spring fields.
My dog's hairs are blown like feathers askew,
My coat's a demon, torturing like life.
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April Gale
The wind frightens my dog, but I bathe in it,
Sound, rush, scent of the Spring fields.
My dog's hairs are blown like feathers askew,
My coat's a demon, torturing like life.