The Wind - Anaphora Poem
The wind whistles in the cold dark night,
The wind sights through the boughs of old trees,
The wind whispers through the tall river reeds,
The wind ripples the field of high grasses,
The wind brushes my face and plays with my hair,
The wind is something no one can see,
The wind is something no one can touch,
Yet the Wind can see and touch us all.
Copyright © Adeline Nicholson | Year Posted 2014
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