The Messenger

At cockcrow, the slightest breeze, wee more than a whisper though. Echoing it's communique through the trees, A message, as if I alone, needed know. But ere my day began to unwind, It approached a gale, forceful and growing. Spitting leaves at me, acting unrefined, Sending signals that I cared not knowing. But this much I know and yet believe, It gave me pause to stop and stare. Trying within myself to conceive, This lingering message of the air. Then, at eye's wink, I stood in time, And with chilling rain now falling. The answer came to the wind's little rhyme, That winter would quickly be calling.