Poa Tree Poems
The Wind
- by
Clarion
The wind sings a song of wildness and pain. She howls in her fury, grows silent again. The wind comes from somewhere, but never from here. When she's gone, all is quiet, there's nothing to hear. The wind can be sharp as a knife cutting bone. And I can't help but feel that I'm standing alone. The wind clears the air of the remnants of life, The dust and decay that result from our strife. She cleanses and purifies our world, as she sings, Of the foibles and fables that tug our heart strings. Draw tight your shirt collar to keep out the dust. Love her or hate her, but endure her you must.