Here you will find the Poem Big Wind of poet Theodore Roethke
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.
