Weeping hours

Restless winds against my window. Tip taps of eager water. Friendly trains meet with harmonizing whistles. Yet my room is still. Sleep calls to me but I refuse to listen. Elements are cold and wet tonight. Cars ignore warning winds, howling. Swaying trees evoke it's dance. A storm is coming. Wary eyes weigh waiting, yet sound remains vibrant. Surely as whistles of distant trains crow. Waters will come. A quarter poured midnight.