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Theodore Roethke - Big Wind
Work rating: Low

Where were the greenhouses going, 
Lunging into the lashing 
Wind driving water 
So far down the river 
All the faucets stopped?— 
So we drained the manure-machine 
For the steam plant, 
Pumping the stale mixture 
Into the rusty boilers, 
Watching the pressure gauge 
Waver over to red, 
As the seams hissed 
And the live steam 
Drove to the far 
End of the rose-house, 
Where the worst wind was, 
Creaking the cypress window-frames, 
Cracking so much thin glass 
We stayed all night, 
Stuffing the holes with burlap; 
But she rode it out, 
That old rose-house, 
She hove into the teeth of it, 
The core and pith of that ugly storm, 
Ploughing with her stiff prow, 
Bucking into the wind-waves 
That broke over the whole of her, 
Flailing her sides with spray, 
Flinging long strings of wet across the roof-top, 
Finally veering, wearing themselves out, merely 
Whistling thinly under the wind-vents; 
She sailed until the calm morning, 
Carrying her full cargo of roses.
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