The Wind, a Thief
The heavy breath we call the wind
That wakes the wood and strips the trees
Does not till spring its blow rescind
And thus return the leaves to these
The forest in primeval rest
Which waits in slumber for each leaf
Is by the springtime richly blessed
The wretched wind, no more a thief
And so the wood possessed of these
Restores each leaf with pride and zeal
Until the wind usurps the breeze
And comes a thief, the leaves to steal
~M
Copyright © Mel Merrill | Year Posted 2014
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