Howling wind, the trees sway slow,
the night, a storm of blackened leaf,
come crashing down to show the moon
her lasting brightness veiled by grief.

The wails start from nowhere,
from woods afar arrive their song.
The weary cry with echo on,
’til dawn creeps up like nothing’s wrong.

Rose Comstive is an upper-level college writer at East Texas Baptist University. She has experience in journalistic writing, short story writing, poetry, and others. She is hoping to graduate with a degree in communications with a minor in writing as well as photography and return home to Houston Texas to continue her work.