The wind sings
a song
which
soothes me
to my soul.
The wind suits
me like
a friend
who doesn't know
where to go...
but is
always present
in some way or not.
The wind doesn't,
cannot give you
what it hasn't got.
For the wind has no hands.
But moves things,
nonetheless.
Some see him as a nuisance.
Others don't like that he makes a mess.
Wild creatures see him as a way
to help them get around.
He's always good for giving things
the move-around.
Mighty wind, he'll talk to me
when I lie awake late
late at night.
His non-stop chattering keeps
me company...
lets me know I'll be alright...
and not too alone.
Backyard tree branches dance
through the windowpane
making skeleton pantomimes
as they move across a moonlit wall.
I am easily amused
by the wind's magical call.
Mister mister wind
your evening howl
is lyrical alliteration to me.
Much better than
the precise tick-ticking of the clock
near the eaves...
you're unpredictable
and constant
within the same breath.
Copyright
April 28 2012
All Rights Reserved By the Author
