The Wind
The wind is whistling a tune today;
I heard it whisper only yesterday;
A week ago, how it did roar;
As passed a storm of epic lore;
Sometimes the wind just whimpers;
As it scatters the leaves asunder;
Often, I’ve detected a mere squeak;
As it moves about mild and meek;
Gusts are wind at its finest;
They blow upon us as if to test,
If our lives are set on solid ground;
So, we shan’t be scuttled all around.
Copyright © Kenneth Cheney | Year Posted 2019
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