The Wind
Even as the wind blows
I can hear the song
carried on the breeze
to where I've waited for so long.
The song may be a whistling
of the wind through the leaves
holding to the trees
lest they fall
Leaves, like the wayward sons of men,
travel on the wind
they spin in the air
till a resting place they find.
When they find a place
they lay there on the ground
till the wind whisks them away again
making a familiar sound
The sound is like a crinkling,
that tickles in the ear
what it means I've not an inkling
this only happens once a year
Every year about this time,
there comes upon a chill
The wind whips o'er the ground
while the church bells chime
This is such a magic time
colors of every hue
leaves whistling in the wind
before the coming frost.
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
