The Wind
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The wind rides in solitude,
unstoppable in Her might.
And brushes eternity,
dusting off the stars at night.
She whistles through the treetops
fluttering leaves with Her breath.
Her tactile touch, like soft silk,
harnesses pleasure and death.
Invisible, She ferries
dandelion tufts aloft.
And tethered to nature's whim,
goes from storm to gentle waft.
She's the architect of clouds,
yet oft blows them all astray.
And though a powerful force,
She's impossible to weigh.
A salty sailor's mistress
and the godmother of kites.
She is like a playful friend
that tickles more oft than bites.
(Quatrain)
4/30/2021
Copyright © Emile Pinet | Year Posted 2021
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