When Wind Gets Mad

When a swaying wind gets mad, It’s addressing what is sad: I‘d wanted to say ‘The Bad ‘ As stained as hating one’s dad And as gross: dumping one’s lad For losses through care of wad: They’re crimes with stings of a bee: The bestial we pay its fee… An Eve a face reserves scowl And the wind maintains its howl, For having its motive seen: A future like horror scene… The startling sight of green leaves Us consoles over what grieves. Don’t their wrought dances of grace Reduce the heat of men’s race?. Note I Nature gratifies More than kitchen satisfies.