The Wind
With rustle and twirl,
The wind
Sets the leaves awhirl
They spin
Like colored dancers
And then
With a whispered sigh,
The wind
Drops them from on high.
It vanishes through
the trees,
Free and careless as
It please;
Comes back a whisper
To tease,
Through a snowy veil,
The leaves
Into one last dance.
Copyright © David Drowley | Year Posted 2018
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