In The Wind

For what is in the wind,
but a prayer, a song;
giving praise to the earth,
where both belong.

A whisper of love,
a caress tender and true:
yet, what it holds together
it can also undo.

Seeds of beauty,
strewn and sown;
finding a place to thrive
until they’ve grown.

We are all wind,
carrying words that weigh;
sending them soaring
on any given day.

A thousand murmurs,
carried on her breeze;
the wind holds them all
while caressing the trees.

A warm summer day,
a cool autumn brush;
a cold crisp finger
causing all to rush.

The air is swirled,
making leaves glide by;
a current under wings
allowing birds to fly.

Yet, what is in the air,
but the promise of spring;
and warm sunny days
when songbirds sing.

Tearing all down,
she can rage fast and fierce;
scattering all o’er the earth,
she can cut and can pierce.

Secrets, joys, and lost loves,
even horrors, she’s pinned;
all close to her breast,
forever carried on the wind.

One cannot truly know her,
or even presume to guess;
the wind is eternal,
and invisible her dress.

You know she is there,
just watch and you’ll see;
all sway in her presence
as she flies free.

Take her not for granted,
for if she ever goes away,
a hush will fall around you
and sad will be the day.

For what is in the wind,
but eternity and breath;
a thing taken for granted,
right up to every death.

© Leslie C Dobson

If you liked this poem, you can find additional ones on the poetry page of Leslie’s website.