The Calling

The winged winds are whistling Reaching up t'wards highest reaches Opening doors and slamming them shut just as eagerly Lying in wait, to snap at the heels of antiquity The winds know the world before and after But the world is not yet ready... Upward, upwards, spiralling out of the world Relinquished above clouds With children running below Carrying kites and fighting to be first Singing and laughing and shouting at the wind Saying, "Come play with us!" And, "We can run fast!" But the wind is not with them... Onwards, onwards, turning tides against the world Seething over causeways and sweeping through vastly Harrying reeds and their loose, knotted grasses Making a shield of pure motion against the sky And in the shrill hum of commotion in all that is The wind makes its eternal melody And in such, the wind is holding fast... The wind knows only where it goes And it flows and billows anywhere the wisdom wills Seeking out new edifices, places to spring from New heights in low planes Making stiff young faces Gleam, dancing like renegades Leaving without trace or setting seam The wind says, "You're not the only one I want." But the world is not listening...