Photo by WildSherkin islander.
Wind is a cat
That prowls at night,
Now in a valley,
Now on a height,
Pouncing on houses
Till folks in their beds
Draw all the covers
Over their heads.
It sings to the moon,
It scratches at doors;
It lashes its tail
Around chimneys and roars.
It claws at the clouds
Till it fringes their silk;
It laps up the dawn
Like a saucer of milk;
Then, chasing the stars
To the tops of the firs,
Curls down for a nap
And purrs and purrs.
by Ethel Romig Fuller
Awesome poetry from all over. 
Thank you for this complete poem. I found the first two lines cited as the example of a metaphor in The Xerox Intermediate Dictionary, ed. William Morris (Middletown, Conn.: Xerox, 1973), p. 456.
Isn’t it rather beautiful? You can hear the wind.