Howling At The Trouble - Richard Shindell

Somewhere out there in the trees

Dry leaves stirred up by the breeze

Sleeping dog picks up the scent

In the the wind he senses

The cracking brance, the swinging gate

The distant thunder on the way

All of this can by explained

As but the trappings of the trouble

All the trouble in our hearts

The house so still, the moon so bright

You awake, I catch your eye

You take my hand to touch your thigh

It’s time we took hold of the

Curtains blown in by the wind

Without a word you take me in

Sleeping dog picks up the scent

As we chase away the trouble

All the trouble in our hearts

The night is hot, the dog has gone

Gone out prowling for the dawn

You and I are left alone

Alone and howling at the trouble