Wayfarer

"I'd ride on the current of the Wayfarer Wind, not caring where his breath would take me." ~ by poet I hear his echoed thrumming when nights are clear His wistful voice floating across meadow and range Softly, urging me to follow, he whispers in my ear and then flies off. I wonder, why does he disappear? I find the hide and seek game he plays, a bit strange. He's a will-o'-the-wisp, moving from place to place not knowing where he'll blow, unrouted on a chart This Wayfarer is the wind, a drifter without a face To far reaches of foreign lands he chooses to race Obeying Nature's desire, he takes the task to heart. He wanders swiftly upon an evening's chilled breeze Ruffling blades of sawgrass where his fingers tread Through hanging branches of weeping willow trees He's the reason waves crash across turbulent seas Wayfarer rambles where he pleases, it's been said. Yet, he'll whimsically lift a kite to delight a child Blustering, he teases without chagrin, all day long Or he can blaze trails of fire that rapidly run wild through vales, charring trees until they're defiled He sings without guilt, howling a braggartly song A tempest traveler flutters through limbs of pines The game he plays can be wicked or full of mirth He doesn't abide by rules and ignores guidelines As a friend or a villain, the Wayfarer has designs on roaming his way on currents across the Earth.