Poplar and Wind

The smell of led was in the air In the quiet forest bullet that silence would dispel That bullet young partisans’ heart would tear And the boy like stone would fell All was left was a shallow grave And small cross given to the one who was brave Above the grave tall poplar would sway like an ocean wave The salute was not given because guerrillas their bullets had to save The destiny has many turns There are many earthly concerns But in subtle leaves of poplar tree wind makes sound like heart that for lover yearns Only it can respond to other sides’ concerns as well as soul’s current sojourns Wind is beyond time but blood is like wine No matter if blood is spilled by men or force of divine Is the wind reflection of the force angelically sublime? Or maybe soul has its own poplar its own wind and its own one having no reference to ours’ time