The Wind
Sometimes
I much prefer
the wind
in its wild fury
and roar,
its wave torn temper,
the wash
of a cooling breeze
on a summer's evening
and its whispered rustle
high in treetops,
in all of its moods,
to the fog still
and thickened quiet
of days
when the only
breath you hear
is your own.
Copyright © Paul Willason | Year Posted 2022
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