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Poem

"I'd ride on the current of the Wayfarer Wind,
not caring where his breath would take me."
                                                ~ by poet

I hear his echoed thrumming when nights are clear
His wistful voice floating across meadow and range
Softly, urging me to follow, he whispers in my ear
and then flies off. I wonder, why does he disappear?
I find the hide and seek game he plays, a bit strange.

He's a will-o'-the-wisp, moving from place to place
not knowing where he'll blow, unrouted on a chart
This Wayfarer is the wind, a drifter without a face
To far reaches of foreign lands he chooses to race
Obeying Nature's desire, he takes the task to heart.

He wanders swiftly upon an evening's chilled breeze
Ruffling blades of sawgrass where his fingers tread
Through hanging branches of weeping willow trees
He's the reason waves crash across turbulent seas
Wayfarer rambles where he pleases, it's been said.

Yet, he'll whimsically lift a kite to delight a child
Blustering, he teases without chagrin, all day long
Or he can blaze trails of fire that rapidly run wild
through vales, charring trees until they're defiled
He sings without guilt, howling a braggartly song

A tempest traveler flutters through limbs of pines
The game he plays can be wicked or full of mirth
He doesn't abide by rules and ignores guidelines
As a friend or a villain, the Wayfarer has designs
on roaming his way on currents across the Earth.

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