The Tempest, Oskar Kokoschka (c.1914)

The Tempest

In the cruel bleak darkness of the night,
I engaged her in a loving embrace.
Hearing a deadly sound causing great fright,
My troubled tense heart did achingly race.

The wind howls with a mean temperament,
Devouring everything within its sight.
To ensnare us the wind would not relent,
Consuming our bodies with vicious spite.

Holding her tightly as we whirled around,
Dreading I may soon lose her to the wind.
She was motionless not making a sound,
While the eye of the tempest meanly grinned.

Awakening in a feverish sweat,
Not even hearing a single whisper.
Seeing a sight I shall never forget,
Alone in bed without a trace of her.