The Wind

Even as the wind blows I can hear the song carried on the breeze to where I've waited for so long. The song may be a whistling of the wind through the leaves holding to the trees lest they fall Leaves, like the wayward sons of men, travel on the wind they spin in the air till a resting place they find. When they find a place they lay there on the ground till the wind whisks them away again making a familiar sound The sound is like a crinkling, that tickles in the ear what it means I've not an inkling this only happens once a year Every year about this time, there comes upon a chill The wind whips o'er the ground while the church bells chime This is such a magic time colors of every hue leaves whistling in the wind before the coming frost.