Woken
By the tearing wind
And the driving rain
As if unspoken
The middle-of-night truths
Race around to stain
Frame this once youth
Whose three score years
No more remain
His image left
On the tails of winds
Amidst the thrusts of rain
He’ll restrain
From being uncouth
If that's all the same
Yet the stories
Of his tainted fruits
Still surely lead the shame
If only to explain
Of himself
Who indeed was to blame
Lying here unrestrained
In the tearing wind
And the driving rain
